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"White Christmas"

Strelnikov

4th Level Red Feather
Joined
May 7, 2001
Messages
1,820
Points
0
by Strelnikov
Copyright 2005 by the author


It would be a white Christmas this year – a slow-moving cold front was passing through, displacing the unseasonably warmer air of the last few days. The snow had been heavy for a while, covering the bare trees and slushy ground with a fresh white blanket, but it had eased off to flurries by nightfall. Good thing it did, thought Professor Hannah Davis – a New England snowstorm makes for foul traveling weather.

This was Christmas Eve, so Hannah had no classes today – Commonwealth University was shut down for the Christmas-New Year holidays. She had a fire going in the fireplace, and the CU station playing softly on the radio, NPR’s “Some Things Considered” news and commentary program. There was a Christmas tree in the garage of Hannah’s Craftsman-style bungalow, but she hadn’t done any decorating – just a few Christmas cards on the fireplace mantel.

Hannah was a stubbornly single, casually bohemian academic in her mid-thirties. She was quite tall, lean but sturdy, with thick auburn hair falling to her shoulder blades. Her dark-rimmed eyeglasses reinforced the serious set of her face, with its cool, gray eyes, sharp nose, high cheekbones, and a hint of olive in her complexion. She wore comfy old corduroy slacks, a turtleneck top, a loose cardigan sweater, and gray wool socks with suede Birkenstock slides.

The old mantel clock chimed 5 PM. Hannah looked out the window, through the gently falling flakes. A pointless exercise – she hadn’t really expected to see anyone. Her home was at the end of a winding driveway, looking down from the valley slope over the quaint New England town. The road didn’t see much traffic at the best of times. Now, everybody with a home to go to was already there. But the mail box flag was down – the post had run today. Hannah draped a coat over her shoulders and went out to check.

About what she expected – a handful of flyers for after-Christmas sales, two credit card offers, some bills, one late Christmas card. It was a big one, 6” x 8” or so. Hannah was momentarily puzzled by the unfamiliar name and return address before memory kicked in. An old friend from her undergrad days, Lisa Curtis – Lisa MacDonald now – had gotten married at the end of summer, and Hannah hadn’t yet gotten used to her friend’s new name after so many years.

The previous day had been comparatively warm, above freezing at any rate. The new snow concealed a thinly frozen puddle near the mail box. Hannah found it on her way back by stepping in it.

Shit! Hannah dropped the mail on the desk in her study and went to her bedroom. She propped the wet shoes up near the bathroom heat vent, tossed her wet socks into the laundry hamper and padded barefoot back into the bedroom. She surveyed the contents of her sock drawer. Somewhere in here was an old pair of red-and-green Christmas socks – garish things, the sort a kid might buy, getting thin on the bottom but still serviceable.

They were near the bottom, naturally. Hannah felt something hard as she pulled them out. She paused briefly, laid the socks on top of the dresser and extracted her other find. Christmas Eve was a time for memories, and this featured in a particularly vivid one.

It was an automatic pistol wrapped in an old dish towel, small enough to fit in the oversize pocket of her cardigan. A Mauser HSc with Nazi military markings – an officer’s pistol. Hannah pulled the magazine and racked the slide to clear the piece – empty as she had expected, but it paid to be sure.

Guns were integral to the culture in her native South Georgia, but this was the only one she had ever owned. Her father’s old lessons came back. Acquire target – the door knob would do. Aim, take a breath, let some out and hold the rest, sight picture, squeeze...

Click!

Hannah replaced the magazine and returned the gun to its wrapping. So far as she knew, the little pistol hadn’t been fired since World War II. She supposed she should get rid of it – had no use for it, and no permit for it either. But it went back into the sock drawer. It had come in handy once, and might again.

Back in the study, Hannah opened Lisa’s card. The card was typical holiday schlock. There was no holiday letter – Lisa and Hannah kept in touch by email like everybody else. Instead, Lisa had put two 5 x 7 photos inside.

The first was a wedding photo, taken at a park, botanical garden or some such. Lisa was radiant, tall and lovely in a blue dress – it exactly matched the color of her eyes, and showed off her great figure and shapely legs to good advantage. Her silky light-brown hair was shoulder length, ruffled slightly by the breeze. Beside her in a blue suit was her new husband, Tom MacDonald, a stocky, fit-looking man maybe 10 yrs older than Lisa, with strands of gray showing in his red hair and bushy mustache. They were flanked by their attendants, two teen girls in floral-print summer dresses. One was Tom’s daughter Emily, a petite girl with a mane of fiery red hair, who looked all of about 15 yrs old. The other was Lisa’s 19 yr old daugher Ashley, a blonde younger copy of her mother.

Lisa looks happy, thought Hannah. She deserves some happiness. Single mother at 16. Raising a daughter while studying for an engineering degree, and working two low-paying jobs to pay for it all. A disastrous and mercifully brief marriage in her 20’s. A dead-end relationship with a commitment-phobic perpetual adolescent – one of the better results of Lisa’s move to Tieson City had been leaving him behind. Now, at age 35, it looked like things were finally going right for Lisa. She said in her latest email that she was expecting. Lisa had always wanted another child – she and Tom hadn’t wasted any time.

Hannah felt a twinge of regret. She had lived with a fellow grad student in her early 20’s. They had talked of marriage. But he was an engineer like Lisa, so his career path was different – academic positions were resume-enhancers, but industry paid lots better and had fewer funding hassles. He had taken a job with Bell Labs just as her career was taking off. They had parted on friendly terms, and still stayed in touch.

Her rise afterward had been meteoric – Assistant Professor of History at CU by age 27, Associate Professor at 32, a resume-enhancing stint as Acting Dean of Students earlier this year that put her in line for a full professorship. Her latest book was going to be published by one of the big New York houses instead of the usual 2,000-copy run on the University Press. But there was no special person in her life right now, hadn’t been since her last lover had taken a position at a California university at the start of the fall semester. It’s good to be independent – Hannah wouldn’t have it any other way – but sometimes it was lonely.

The second picture was a portrait of Ashley, taken the day she graduated from the U. S. Coast Guard boot camp in Cape May, New Jersey. Ashley had been a beautiful child. Hannah had last seen her a few years before – on the threshold of womanhood, she had been exceptional. Tall, drop-dead gorgeous, with crystal blue eyes, flawless fair skin, long silky blonde hair, a beautiful face, hourglass figure and long, shapely legs.

The portrait showed a young woman whose hair was cut short for convenience and practicality. She wore Coast Guard dress blues, with an American flag as backdrop. She was serious, unsmiling, because she was just starting off on a serious enterprise. She looked slightly ill-at-ease in the not-yet-familiar uniform, but the pride and confidence her training had instilled in her shone forth like a beacon. Hannah had seen many other portraits like this, different faces and different uniforms but all the same, all the way back to tintypes from the Civil War.

Ashley had always been adaptable, ever since she was a little girl – she had had to be. Hannah wondered what the girl thought of it all – a stepfather, a stepsister, and another sibling in the oven. Maybe that was why she enlisted in the Coast Guard? No, her mother said she’d been talking about that since last spring.

Hannah laid the pictures aside. She found the photo album on a high book shelf, the old one with pictures from her student days. She leafed through, pausing occasionally. The earliest ones featured Hannah and her sophomore year apartment house neighbors, Robbie Lee and Tina Montanez. They had all spent far too much time partying...

***

There was one parking space left beside the apartment building when Liz Davis drove up – the other two were full. It had been a two-day drive from her family home in a small South Georgia town. At least she had good traveling weather – the past few days were perfect, warm and sunny, though cooler here than it had been in Georgia. The fall term started in a week – she had come here early to get settled in before classes started. But now, all she wanted was a shower and a cool drink.

Hannah Elizabeth Davis was a sophomore History major at Commonwealth University. She was tall and slender, with thick auburn hair falling to her shoulder blades. She was dressed for traveling in a comfy old t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts and sandals. Her features were a little too strong for conventional beauty – sharp nose, high cheekbones, cool gray eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses, and a hint of olive in her complexion. There’s a curious tradition in the rural South: name a baby after some ancient relative, then give the kid a middle name they can actually use, and that everybody calls them by. Her kin would call her Lizzie to her dying day.

Liz was small-town gentry – her father was President of the Merchants and Planters Bank, as his father and grandfather had been before him. High school hadn’t challenged her, giving her plenty of free time for mischief. Going away to college had removed the need for circumspection – she turned into a wild-child, majoring in Partying.

She had learned as a freshman to conceal her Southern accent when dealing with the faculty. They were aggressively outspoken liberals for the most part, with the typical prejudices of their class. They regarded working and rural people, and Southerners generally, with condescension that verged on contempt.

The Southern accent came out among her peers, but not her native dialect – this one was all hoop skirts and magnolias. She was willful and a little self-centered, bright enough to get through her studies without much effort. Her grades weren’t exactly stellar, but grades didn’t matter much anyway. So long as she didn’t flunk out, Daddy would keep on writing the checks.

Her apartment building had been built 90 yrs before as a garage for a tall old mansion not far from the campus. The main house had long since been converted to offices – a real estate firm lived there now. The garage had been chopped up into efficiency apartments, one for each of its three bays. A covered deck in front completed the conversion – it was modern, just a few years old. Her apartment was between the two others – she already had the keys, picked up from the property manager a few minutes before.

Liz heard music as she walked around to the front of the building – a guitar, played by a better-than-average amateur. Must be on the porch, she thought. She circled around to check it out.

The guitar player was a big dark-haired guy her own age or thereabouts, built like an Olympic wrestler, wearing shorts, sneakers and a wife-beater shirt. He was paying attention to his music, not his surroundings.

“Hi there! I’m your new neighbor, Liz Davis,” Liz called out. “You sound pretty good,” she added.

He grinned hugely and shifted to “Dixie”. “Robert E. Lee, ma’am,” he said in a dreadful imitation-Southern accent. “At your service. But you-all can call me Robbie.”

He laid the guitar aside and stood to greet her – he was at least a head taller. “That really is my name,” he said in standard Middle American. “Heard your accent, and couldn’t help myself. I live there,” he added, indicating the apartment to the left of hers.

Robbie pretty obviously wasn’t one of the Virginia Lees. Liz discovered that he was descended from a 19th Century Chinese railroad worker who had stayed on in California as a farmer. He was well-off too – his ancestor started with a 40-acre farm, and over the past 120 yrs the family had parlayed it into huge land holdings and a successful agribusiness. His dad wore cowboy hats and boots, and liked to say he was a rancher, but the elder Lee’s daily routine differed little from that of any other corporate CEO.

Robbie helped Liz with her gear. It didn’t take long – the apartment came furnished. The place wasn’t large – a closet, a bathroom, a galley kitchen with two tall stools and a counter that did double duty as a table, and one other room that held everything else. There wasn’t much – a bed, a desk, a small free-standing bookshelf, two armchairs, a lamp and table, another table for her TV and stereo.

“Want something cold?” Robbie asked when they were finished.

“Rain check,” Liz answered. “Right now I need a shower. You gonna be around later?”

“I’ll be here,” he said. “Come back outside when you’re finished.”

Amazing how much better a little hot water can make you feel, Liz thought as she dried her hair. Robbie was still on the porch, picking out a tune – it was one she didn’t know. She dressed in another t-shirt and jeans shorts – she didn’t bother with her sandals.

Robbie stopped playing. “Hi again,” he said. “Have a seat. Feeling better?”

“Lots. Thinking about dinner.” She sat and kicked back, feet up on the railing. “Why don’t we– ”

“Thought I heard voices,” a female voice said. “You must be our new neighbor. I’m– ”

“Ernestina Lucia Montanez Loyo,” Robbie interrupted. “Call her Tina. Tina, this is Liz Davis.”

“Good to meet you, Liz,” Tina said. “You just get in?” She had a trace of a Mexican accent, with an overlay of an expensive New England finishing school. She was a little older, early 20’s from the look of her. She was petite and slender, Aztec-looking, with a long, straight black ponytail and dark eyes. Like Liz, she was barefoot, wearing shorts and t-shirt.

“Hour or so ago,” Liz said. “Is he always like this?”

“He just moved in too,” Tina said. “But so it would appear.” She sat on Liz’s other side and propped her feet up on the railing too. “And there’s another thing– ”

“Hey, Tina,” Robbie interrupted again, eyeing Tina’s bare feet. “How about a foot rub?”

“Not on your life!” Tina said, laughing, and put both feet flat on the floor. “Do I look like some barefoot campesina from Oaxaca, just fell off the hay truck?” She giggled and wiggled her toes. “Well, I guess I do, a little. But– ”

“You wound me, querida!” he said. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.” He accompanied himself on his guitar as he sang a bit of a Mexican folk song:

Y si Ernestina se fuera con otro,
la seguiría por tierra y por mar–
si por mar en un buque de guerra,
si por tierra en un tren militar...


It sounded like something a mariachi band might perform, but apparently it held another meaning too. “Nice try,” Tina said. “But no adelitas in my family, I’m afraid. My great-grandfather joined the Revolution, but most of ‘em were on the other side.” She gave them a sly look. “Lucky for me – he saved the estancia. If he hadn’t, I might be picking tomatoes for this big gringo right now.”

“Play hell with your manicure,” Liz observed. “Cut into your party time too.”

“Well, if you don’t like that one, how about this?” Robbie said, playing the Chiquita Banana tune. From someone else, it might have come across as racist, but there was no harm in Robbie – just good-natured kidding, and plenty of it. Liz decided she liked him a lot.

“That’s two for her. How about another song for me, darlin’?” Liz said in her best Scarlett O’Hara voice.

“Comin’ at ya!” he said cheerfully, and launched into another. It was a simple tune with a repetitive beat, written for snare drum and bugle rather than guitar. It sounded vaguely familiar, something from an old movie maybe...

“Robbie– ” Tina said warningly – apparently she knew it too.

He stopped and laid the guitar in the open case by his side. “You gotta admit it’s appropriate,” he said.

“Why? What is it?” Liz asked.

“El Degüello,” Tina said. “You gringos call it “No Quarter” or “Take No Prisoners” in English.”

“Right the first time,” Robbie said. “The Mexican Army played it at the Alamo.”

“But why– “ Liz started, perplexed.

Robbie was pretty fast for a big guy. He was up out of his chair in a flash. She was sprawled back in her chair, both ankles trapped in one big hand, feet up and gravity working against her, before she knew what had happened.

“Because I’m gonna tickle you to death!” he said gleefully, and flicked his nails across her heels.

“OH SHIT! Hehe! Sta– haha! –ap!” Liz begged and giggled. “NOOOO! HAHA! HAHA-HAHAHA-HAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Nope – it’s time for some Lizzie-music,” he said. Ticklish laughter poured out of Liz as he switched to a guitar-chording motion, covering both arches with unbearable tickling. He made a Peace sign and scratched in both arches, just behind the soles – then tiny circles in the same spots, and Liz laughed her head off.

Liz’s soles got it next, both at once – her toes twitched and curled as she laughed like mad. The rough guitar calluses tickled like mischief, and he still had the thumb pick too – he used it to tickle the exact center of the right sole, along the crease. The other foot got the same treatment – Liz laughed helplessly, red-faced and sweaty, tears running down her cheeks. He drew figure-eight’s around the balls of her feet, tickling horribly, then scratched at the base of the big toes. Liz bucked and squirmed, laughing at the top of her lungs, as the tickling filled her universe.

Then the guitar-chording motion again, nail tips in both arches. Liz laughed and laughed as he tickled down to her heels, then drew tickling shapes with his pick. He spider-walked his nails up the arches, then another Peace sign – both sole creases got it at once, and Liz’s laughter went off the scale. That finished it – she laughed herself breathless.

Robbie turned loose and cracked his knuckles. “Hey Liz, did that tickle?” he asked, grinning.

“Did it tickle!” she said indignantly. “Did it tickle!”

“You don’t seem too sure,” he said, mock-serious, and reached for her ankles again. “Maybe I’ll refresh your memory...”

Liz scrambled to her feet and backed away. “NO! You just about tickled me to death!”

“He does that,” Tina said. “Got me good the day he moved in.”

Liz shuffled her feet to get the tickle off. “You should’ve warned me,” she said accusingly.

“Didn’t get a chance,” the other girl said. “Better this way anyway – you learned for yourself. And to add insult to injury, there’s no getting even – he’s not the least bit ticklish.”

“You’ve got a great tickle laugh,” Robbie said. “As good as Tina’s. Feel OK?”

“I’ve felt worse,” she allowed. “Woo! That tickled so much!” Oddly enough, Liz discovered that she didn’t really mind the tickling. It had actually been kinda fun, but damned if she would admit it. It was just too weird.

Over the next few days, Liz decided she liked living here. Her neighbors were party types like herself, fun to be around. It was their privileged backgrounds that allowed it – there were no consequences for failure. Tina had already changed her major three times, and Robbie – well, the “Gentleman’s C” had been invented for guys like him.

More students were drifting in – Liz and Tina went to the first frat party of the season. Liz woke up just before noon the next day with a raging hangover. Partied a little too hearty last night, she thought as she made her way to the bathroom. She had no idea how she had gotten home, and the underwear she had worn last night were nowhere to be found. Her face in the mirror was haggard, eyes bloodshot, hair a mess. Her mouth tasted like the inside of an old leather boot.

Brushing her teeth helped. Ten minutes in the shower, and she felt almost human. She was tempted to take an eye-opener, but decided against it. That would have been pretty hard-core – she was a little disturbed that she had even considered it. Two aspirins, some toast and a pot of coffee completed the transformation. Her powers of recuperation were above average – she was only 19, after all. And besides, she had plenty of practice.

She heard Robbie’s guitar outside. The last few days had been perfect Indian Summer weather, warm and sunny. She swapped her robe for t-shirt and shorts, stepped into her sandals and headed outside.

Liz found her neighbors on the porch. Tina was in a bikini and shades, a folded blanket under her arm. Robbie was sitting in one of the chairs, picking out a tune. She had learned by now that she could gauge his mood by the music he played. This one was jaunty and playful – “My Love, She’s But a Lassie Yet”.

“Hi, y’all,” Liz said. “Want some company?”

“Hi, Liz!” Robbie said, and shifted to “Drunken Sailor”.

Liz laughed. “You never let up, do you?” she said. She found another chair and sat.

“Not hardly,” he said, and stopped playing, the guitar resting in his lap.

“You got in kinda late,” he said. “Woke me up right around sunrise.”

“Tina and I went to a party at I Phelta Thigh,” Liz said. She kicked off her sandals and propped her feet up on the porch railing. “That’s where we started anyway – not sure where we ended up, except I woke up here.”

“I brought you home,” Tina said. “You were hammered, knee-walkin’ drunk.”

“Probably ought to ease off a little if that’s the case,” Robbie said. “That’s a good way to get hurt.” He grinned to take the sting out of the criticism. “Not that I haven’t done the same myself, a time or two.”

“I know, Robbie,” Liz said ruefully. “You’d think I’d learn.”

“Get your swim suit,” Tina said. “It’s a nice day, won’t be too many more like it.” She stepped off the porch and spread the blanket on a patch of weedy grass. “Let’s take advantage, and maybe cook some of the booze out of you.”

That suited Liz. She changed and joined Tina on the blanket. Both of them were tanned – they didn’t bother with sun block, just a little baby oil so the sun wouldn’t dry their skin.

Liz didn’t hear Robbie’s guitar after a while – he must have gone off somewhere. She rolled onto her tummy. “Time to turn the spit,” she said.

“Me too,” Tina said. “Want some more oil?”

Tina applied the oil, then Liz returned the favor, working down from shoulders to ankles. A mischievous notion struck her – she continued downward, oiling the bottom of the right foot.

“Hey!” Tina said. “What’s that for?”

“I’ve gotten burned there,” Liz said. “Hurts like mischief.”

“I sure wouldn’t let Robbie do that,” Tina said. “He’d tickle the shit out of me.” A pause. “Hey, you’re not gonna– ”

Liz pasted an angelic expression on her face. “Moi? Wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, eh? Well, I’ll take you at your word – just this once!”

Liz finished with the right foot, taking care not to tickle, then moved on to the left. But instead of turning loose, she kept her hold and swung her leg across Tina like mounting a horse. She ended up facing aft, the trapped foot still in her grasp.

“Hey!” Tina protested – she knew what was coming. “You said you wouldn’t dream of tickling me!”

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, though,” Liz replied, and dug in. Tina squirmed like a worm and laughed at the top of her lungs. The oil made it hard to hold on, but at the same time it provided lubricant and made the tickling much worse.

Liz spread Tina’s little toe apart from its neighbor and tickled in between, and Tina laughed like mad. Liz tickled her way across, scratching between each pair of toes, getting a burst of ticklish laughter each time. She held Tina’s toes back and tickled under them, and Tina’s laughter went off the scale. Aha! The sweet spot! Let’s see if there’s another...

Liz moved on, tickling the stretched out sole. She paid special attention to the ball of the foot and the crease in the middle – Tina howled with forced mirth, the tickling sensation crowding out all coherent thought. She tickled down Tina’s arch, flicking with her nail tips, enjoying Tina’s helpless laughter. She switched to drawing figure-eight’s on the heel as ticklish laughter poured out in a solid stream. It was all good – Tina was helpless, unresisting, all she could do was lay there and laugh.

But toe tickles were best, Liz decided. She worked her way up the arch and onto the sole, using Robbie’s guitar-chording motion, covering the sensitive skin with unbearable tickling. She saved the best for last – tickling the soft skin under Tina’s toes, fast as she could. Tina laughed her head off at the top of her lungs. Liz kept it up and tickled Tina’s breath away.

Liz released the foot, dismounted and sat back on her heels. She was grinning ear to ear. She decided that she liked to tickle – it was great fun, making Tina laugh like that. And unlike Robbie, Tina would have no trouble getting even with Liz. That would be fun too.

Tina rolled onto her back and laid there gasping, tears running down her cheeks. “You are so gonna get it!” she threatened good-naturedly.

“Have to catch me first!” Liz said. Tina sat up fast and grabbed Liz’s arm. “OK, ya got me,” Liz said, and flopped down on her tummy. “Well, what are you waiting for? Tickle my soles – it drives me crazy!”

And that set the tone for the friendship. The two girls shared a secret now – both loved to tickle, and while they were a little less enthusiastic about being tickled, that was fun too if that’s how things worked out. In those pre-internet times, both were delighted to find someone who shared their odd hobby. They jokingly called themselves the Vellication Irregulars.

They took to teasing Robbie, hoping to be tickled, and he seldom disappointed them. Liz especially – he played her like he did his guitar. They were becoming more than friends. She began to wonder when – if – they would take the next step.

Liz took a day trip with him, a fall color tour of the surrounding area. Robbie had a shiner when he came to pick her up – she asked him about it.

“Tina gave me this yesterday when I was tickling her,” Robbie said. “Didn’t mean to, just couldn’t control the reaction.”

“Ow!” Liz said. “Better wear shades to cover it up if we’re going out.”

Liz and Robbie spent the afternoon driving in the countryside. The day was cool but clear, jeans-and-jacket weather – the fall foliage was at its peak of color. They stopped at a farmer’s roadside stand for home-made cider, bought bread and cheese at a country store, and had a late picnic near a little waterfall beside the road.

They came back to his place around nightfall. Liz was still full of energy – better burn some off, she thought. She pulled off her shoes and socks. “Time for some more Lizzie-music,” she said.

He grinned and took off his shades. “Had the same thought myself.”

Oops! Wouldn’t do to black his other eye. “Maybe you better tie me up,” she said. “Safer for both of us. Think you could do a hogtie, cowboy?”

They finally settled on neckties – strong, wide enough not to chafe, held a firm knot but would be easy to untie. She flopped on the bed on her tummy. He tied her hands behind her back, looped the ends through her belt to anchor them. He tied her ankles together with another, then used a third to complete the hogtie.

Liz strained and squirmed. “A little kinky, but not bad,” she said. “Not too tight, doesen’t chafe, but I can’t move at all.”

He cracked his knuckles. “Good, ‘cause I’m gonna tickle you ‘til you don’t know your own name.”

“Promises, promises!” Liz scoffed. “C’mon, tickle the shit out of me!”

“Let’s try something a little different,” he said. He put a CD in the player – nothing but the latest electronics for him. “I’ve always wanted to try this.”

Liz twisted around. “A sing-along?” she asked. “Music to tickle by?”

“Yup,” he said, working thumb picks onto his fingers. “Dueling Banjos.” He started the music. “Enjoy it – I know I will.”

The tune was a medley of old bluegrass music, a duet for banjo and guitar, from the movie “Deliverance”. Liz had been just a little girl when the movie came out. But she remembered the tune – it had gotten so much radio air play that it had inspired a parody called “Dueling Tubas”.

The guitar led off, a scale progression. The banjo responded in kind. They bounced it back and forth, three or four times. Robbie tickled left-handed along with the guitar, right-handed with the banjo, drawing tickling shapes with a single fingernail each. Liz giggled like a little girl.

The guitar switched to a bit of “Old Joe Clark”. The banjo picked it up, faster. Both repeated twice. Robbie flicked the picks on the bottoms of Liz’s feet – the giggles were continuous.

The guitar played Yankee Doodle went to town... and the banjo answered with ...riding on a pony... Liz’s giggles were full blown laughter now as Robbie flicked and scratched her sensitive soles.

“Old Joe Clark” again twice, faster still, and Liz laughed with wild abandon.

Yankee Doodle went to town – riding on a pony and then the musicians were were pickin’ and grinnin’, playing “Old Joe Clark” together, the banjo carrying the melody and guitar the harmony. Robbie scratched Liz’s heel with all four nails together, following the guitar chords, covered her other foot with tiny pick-flicks to the banjo. Liz laughed her head off, squirming like a worm and trying desperately to pull her feet away.

A riff, both musicians playing as fast as they could, and then they were playing “Yankee Doodle” together with Robbie following along. They embellished the tune – Liz laughed and laughed, helplessly, tears running down her cheeks.

Another riff, then the banjo ran away with the tune and the guitar dropped out. Robbie and the banjo finished with “Ida Red”, fingers flying, and Liz laughed at the top of her lungs. The guitar and left hand joined in for one final chord, and tickled Liz into gasping, red-faced silent laughter.

“Doin’ OK, Liz?” Robbie asked. “Want to do it again?”

“That... wasn’t... so bad...” Liz gasped out. She took a long deep breath. “Music took my mind off it.”

“Then let’s try it a capella,” he said.

“You mean like the town in Mexico?” Liz asked, grinning.

“That’s Acapulco,” Robbie said. “That earned you an extra 5 minutes.” He dug in, tickling fast as he could. Liz arched her back and laughed like a madwoman.

It was more like 20 minutes by the time he finished, with a few breathers to catch her breath. Liz was a mess by then, sweaty and rumpled, cheeks streaked with tears. Her ribs and abs hurt from laughing, her throat was dry, her lungs felt like she had run a race. Her feet still tingled from the tickling.

And she was aroused. She hadn’t expected that.

He untied her, brought her a drink and picked up his guitar. She didn’t know the tune.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He colored. “An old song,” he said. “Off an LP my folks had from the 60’s.”

“Does it have words?”

He sang softly, not meeting her eyes.

Come to my bedside, my darlin’,
Come over here and close the door.
Won't you lay your body soft and close beside me,
And drop your petticoat upon the floor?


Liz stood up and stepped out of her jeans and panties. She shucked her sweat shirt – she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Yes,” she said.

So matters stood at Thanksgiving, when Liz’s world turned upside down.

***

The clock chimed 6 PM, shaking Hannah out of her reverie. Outside, the snow was still falling, silvery flakes reflecting the outside lights. It’s a wonder I didn’t flunk out, she thought. Lisa had a lot to do with that.

The radio program changed on the hour, Christmas music in place of the jazz program that usually ran at this time. The Golden Rule was at work – he who has the gold, makes the rule. The alumni donor who had financed the new Media Center had dictated that Christmas music would be played from 6 PM Christmas Eve until midnight on Christmas as one of the conditions of the gift.

Most of the station’s student staff and faculty advisors were violently opposed. They were virulent multiculturalists, and understood that to mean that respect was due all cultures except the Middle American culture most of them came from. The Administration had put the screws to them – hard. It had been the cause of one of those parochial controversies that create a huge stir on campus but are ignored in the real world outside.

The results were amusing. The program led off with “Christmas in the Trenches” – the program director was too immature and clueless to understand how appropriate that was in this time of war. The Scots preacher who had written “Away In A Manger” had appropriated the tune from a traditional Scots air – that variant followed, “Flow Gently Sweet Afton” played on bagpipes. Hannah decided she liked it better than the standard version. The next two were seasonal-secular, “Let It Snow” and “Jingle Bells”. She figured they would slip in “Dredel, Dredel, Dredel” sometime tonight, and maybe “Death to the Great Satan” to mollify the Muslims. But for now, honor temporarily satisfied, they segued into an old standard, “White Christmas”.

Hannah listened to the song to its conclusion. Bing Crosby’s smooth, rich baritone had been only part of his long-standing appeal. The man had had a genius for picking music that spoke to the heart and soul of Middle America, and this tune was perhaps the prime example.

Afterward, Hannah continued through the old pictures. Robbie and Tina were there, but there were different people too. A snapshot of an old lady on a porch swing, with a mop of silver curls and a cheerful expression. One of 6 yr old Ashley, in an angel costume for Halloween. Another taken on a Cape Cod beach, of two grinning girls in bikinis, Hannah and Lisa at age 20 or so. Hannah sighed. It seemed like a lifetime ago...

***

Liz Davis paused inside the door of the video rental store – her glasses had fogged over immediately. She wore a ski parka over a collared blue silk blouse, and fashionably-faded jeans with boots that had a 3” heel. She took off her glasses and looked around, squinting a little.

The store looked empty. The after-school crowd had come and gone, the commuters were still at work. There wasn’t even a counter clerk.

The Reagan Administration had deregulated the Savings & Loan industry, sending thousands of gray-flannel mortgage bankers out to swim with the sharks. Predictably, the whole industry had imploded, and American taxpayers would be paying for the government bailout for a generation. The country was still feeling the effects. Merchants and Planters Bank had circled the drain for a while – it had finally been engulfed and devoured by Wachovia. And the new owners had no use for the old management – the hammer fell just before Thanksgiving.

Liz hadn’t realized what a pounding the family assets had taken until her Thanksgiving trip home. Instead of local gentry, her father was now just another working stiff out of a job. Her parents had assured her that their remaining savings would carry them through until Daddy found work. They hadn’t asked her to leave school – yet.

Liz had spent a day or so wallowing in self pity. Her grandmother, a formidable Southern matriarch who ruled her extended family with an iron hand, had jerked a knot in her tail. Nana had grown up in a dog-trot shack during the Depression. She had never gone beyond high school – few women of her generation did, especially in rural Georgia. But even that took determination. There was one public high school in her county, not far from the court house. She had to pay for her books and supplies, and farm kids were on their own for transportation. Nana had lived in a boarding house in town during the school year, and clerked at the dry-goods store after school to pay for books, room and board.

“You finished feeling sorry for yourself, Lizzie?” the old woman had asked. “Better get it out of your system, because it’s an indulgence you can’t afford.”

“But Nana, we’re poor now!” Liz whined.

“Y’all are still a lot better off than my family was while I was growing up,” her grandmother said. “But let’s say for sake of argument that y’all are poor. It’s not necessarily a permanent condition if you work at it. Seems to me you’ve got a decision to make about the course of your life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can go two ways,” the old lady said. “You can get serious about your schooling and make something of yourself. Or you can marry your young man – he’s got money enough to support you in the style you prefer. In my day, getting pregnant would’ve clinched it, but not any more – you’ll have to work for that too if you go that route. In either case, you’ll have to stay in school.”

“But I am in– ”

“No you’re not. You’re at school, wasting your time and your father’s money. A serious situation calls for a serious response – get off your butt and get a job, the way I did. That will buy you the time you’ll need to make up your mind. And you’ll take your schooling serious if you’re paying for it yourself.”

And so here she was, a new-minted member of the working class reporting for her first day of work. “Hello!” she called out. “Anybody here?”

A girl about Liz’s age came out of the back room. “Hi, can I help you?” she asked. She was tall, drop-dead gorgeous, with crystal blue eyes, flawless fair skin and long silky light brown hair. She wore an unbuttoned red smock over a collarless long-sleeve jersey, a knee-length jeans skirt and clogs without socks. The outfit displayed her hourglass figure and long, shapely legs to full advantage.

“I’m Liz– I’m Hannah Davis. I’ll be working here starting today.” If I’m changing my image, might as well use a name to match, she thought. With mild surprise, she realized that her native accent was back again, the accent of the educated small-town Southerner.

“I’m Lisa Curtis,” the brunette said. “They told me we were gonna get a new girl.” Clothing still provides cues to social status if you know what to look for – this girl’s clothes came from Wal-Mart. The accent was local. A townie then.

“That’s me,” Liz – no, Hannah – said.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Lisa asked.

Hannah laughed. “We say that to people back home.” The girl looked familiar somehow, she thought. “Do I know you?”

“You’re a student, right? Probably on campus – I’m an Engineering major. Or at the Trough,” Lisa said, naming the justifiably maligned student cafeteria.

“I’ve got a place off-campus this year,” Hannah said. “I try to stay away from the Trough. Freshman year was enough.”

“I work there,” Lisa said. “Breakfast and lunch, 5 days a week. Eat there too – any leftovers at closing time are free. That helps a lot.”

Like nearly all students, Hannah thought of herself as poor. Still, she recognized that it was a temporary condition, and in any case her parents were there to fall back on if things got really tight.

Lisa, Hannah discovered, was a genuine member of the working poor. She was a little older than Hannah, a single mom with a 5 yr old daughter, working her way through school. She got some scholarship money that paid for her courses, but it wouldn’t stretch quite far enough to cover all of the books – engineering texts are expensive. CU’s Medical School ran a free clinic for students, but Lisa’s daughter wasn’t covered, and Lisa was on her own for living expenses. It was a constant juggling act, one missed paycheck or one big doctor bill away from disaster. Her education would give her a ticket out of poverty if she could finish it – otherwise, this would be the shape of the rest of her life.

The commuters started trickling in after an hour or so. Hannah worked the register under supervision for a while, then soloed when the trickle turned into a flood. The job wasn’t difficult, it just required that she pay attention. With just one exception – her feet hurt! She hadn’t thought about the disadvantages of high heels in a stand-up job, and now she was paying for it.

There was a lull around supper time. Hannah gratefully pulled her boots off – she decided to finish her shift in her socks. Lisa took her shoes off too, and spent a moment or two massaging her toes.

“You must be a Yankee,” Hannah observed. “Bare feet in December – brrr!”

“New Hampshire, born and raised,” Lisa agreed. “No clean socks this morning,” she explained. “Anyway, most of ‘em are so full of holes, I might as well go barefoot. Maybe I’ll get some more after Christmas if there’s any money left over.” She took a textbook out of her backpack under the counter. “Did you bring anything to study? That’s what I do when things are slow like this.” She grinned. “Not a bad deal, getting paid to do my homework.”

Hannah hadn’t thought of that. She seldom did much studying anyway. That’s gonna change too, she resolved.

The place got busy again just before closing. They locked up afterward and went out the back. This was a small town – Lisa lived within walking distance, and a good thing too, because she couldn’t afford a car.

“Bye, Hannah!” Lisa said. “See you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Keep it real,” Hannah said. She drove home in a thoughtful mood. Her family had serious financial problems, but nothing like what Lisa faced on a daily basis. How could the girl manage to stay so cheerful and upbeat?

Hannah went inside and gratefully pulled her boots off again. Ought to sell the car, she thought while she was putting her pajamas on. That would carry her through to the end of the school year.

She was brushing her teeth when she heard a knock at the door. “Wait a sec!” she called out, rinsed her mouth and shuffled to the door in pajamas, robe and slippers.

“Hi, Liz!” Tina said. “Oops! I was gonna see if you wanted to play, but I see you’re getting ready for bed. Early for you, isn’t it?” she continued. “You sick?”

“No, just a little tired, Tina,” Hannah said. “But I’m not really sleepy yet – come on in.”

Tina came indoors and kicked off her clogs. She wasn’t wearing socks, and Hannah saw the end of a thrift-store necktie – bondage material – hanging out of her coat pocket. Three guesses what kind of play she had in mind, and the first two don’t count. She sat in one of the armchairs. “So where were you tonight?” she asked. “Surely not the library! Not my Liz!”

“Working,” Hannah said. She kicked off her slippers and sat cross-legged on the other armchair. “Started today at the video store on Mill Street.”

“That’s gonna cut into your party time,” Tina said. “Why? It’s not like you need the money, any more than I do.”

“Actually, I do,” Hannah said glumly. “Daddy’s out of a job – Merry fucking Christmas! Probably ought to find a cheaper place to live, too.”

“Well, that explains the long face,” Tina said. “That really sucks, Liz. Any way I can help?”

“Thanks, but no.”

Tina grinned. “Typical Georgia Cracker – poor but proud,” he said. “Well, at least I can make you laugh...”

“Not now, Tina,” Hannah said. “I’m not in the mood.” She was just a little annoyed at the “cracker” comment. How would Tina like it if Hannah called her “wetback”?

The toilet chose that moment to start hissing – water leaking by a worn tank flapper. Hannah got up to wiggle the handle, then headed back toward her seat.

Tina grabbed Hannah’s robe lapels from behind and pulled outward, back and down. The robe bunched up around Hannah’s elbows, pinning her arms to her sides. Tina held on, ran Hannah forward onto the bed, heaved her legs up and scrambled after. She sat on the struggling girl, pulled a necktie from her coat pocket and tied Hannah’s hands behind her back. Tina tied the free ends to the robe tie to provide an anchor, then swapped ends and tied Hannah’s ankles together with another tie. She completed the hogtie with a third necktie and kneeled next to Hannah’s upturned feet.

“Go ahead – laugh a little,” Tina said, and flicked her well-manicured nails on Hannah’s heels.

“OH NOOO! ” Hannah begged. “Tinaa– haha! Sta– haha! –ap! HAHAHA! HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA!”

“Nope – it’s time for your singing lesson,” Tina said, and got down to business. Hannah laughed her head off, squirming like a worm and struggling against her bonds as Tina’s nails flicked her sensitive soles.

“You’re squirming too much,” Tina said. She shifted a knee on either side of Hannah’s to prevent a rollover, then switched to Robbie’s guitar-chording motion, tickling like crazy. She flicked her nails in Hannah’s arches, not making much contact but driving Hannah wild. She drew counter-rotating circles on Hannah’s heels, and Hannah laughed with wild abandon.

Tina knew every ticklish spot, and tickled every one. She drew overlapping circles up both arches – Hannah laughed helplessly, red-faced and sweaty, hair in tangles, tears running down her cheeks. Tina held the toes back and tickled side to side, then drew fast, looping figure-eight’s around the balls of Hannah’s feet. The loops got smaller, faster, covering the sensitive skin with unbearable tickling. She made a Peace sign and scratched both soles, along the creases, and into the arches behind. Hannah was helpless now, laughing like a maniac, the tickling had sucked away her strength.

Tina released the toes and tickled the soles two handed – Hannah’s toes twitched and curled as she laughed and laughed. She was in the zone now, laughing at the top of her lungs, helpless to resist or even form a coherent thought. Tina held the toes back again and tickled side to side on the stretched out soles, then scratched at the base of the big toes. Then more figure-eight’s, giving the sole creases a few extra nail flicks on each pass, and Hannah’s laughter went off the charts. It was more than she could bear – she laughed herself breathless.

Tina started working the knots loose. “Told you I could make you laugh,” she said. “Feel any better?”

Hannah took stock of herself. “Some,” she said. “Woo! You outdid yourself this time.”

“Always glad to help a friend,” Tina said virtuously. She really was a good friend, good sense of humor, fun to be around – Hannah couldn’t get mad at the girl. And it wasn’t like this was the first time, either. But still...

“I really need to get some sleep, Tina,” she said firmly. “We can get together some other time.” Or not – unlike Tina, Hannah now had better things to do than party.

“Well... OK, Liz, I guess I’m outa here,” she said. She knew that something had changed, though she wasn’t quite sure what. “See ya around.”


 
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(continued)

Hannah pulled the early afternoon shift with Lisa the next day. Now that she had resolved to get serious about school, her grades were disturbing. She glumly confided that she was probably going to flunk her math course – she had no head for it at all. Pitiful really, because it was part of the least challenging of CU’s three math curricula – Scientific Math, Math for Engineers, and Math for Non-Technical Majors. The techie students like Lisa called the last “Math for Animals”.

“Want some help with it?” Lisa asked. “I’ve got some time free Saturday morning – I’ll walk you through it.”

“I dunno,” Hannah said dubiously. “I have to take my shoes off to balance my check book.”

“Oh, foo!” Lisa said dismissively. “It’s not that hard, just takes a different kind of thinking than you’re used to.”

“OK, you’re on,” Hannah said. “Where, at the library?”

“My place – I’ve got a kid, remember?” Lisa said. “They shut down the breakfast line at the Trough at 9 AM. Have a late breakfast tomorrow, and meet me out front at 9:30.”

Lisa’s place was in a section of town called Mill Village. It wasn’t far from campus – two blocks on Mill Street past the old mill, turn left and two more blocks. In the heyday of the Cabot Woolen Goods Mill, the Village had been a vibrant blue-collar community. But the mill had been devoured by Wall Street sharks, who had milked it for cash while letting it run down. It shut down during the Carter Recession and never reopened – it stood inside a rusty cyclone fence, with sagging roofs and broken windows, home to bats, rats and feral cats. With the mill jobs gone, Mill Village was now home to the working poor.

The houses here were set close together – a big guy like Robbie could stand between two of them, spread his arms and touch them both. Lisa’s was an Archie Bunker type with two flats side by side. A covered porch went all the way across the front, with a single door in the middle and an old-fashioned mail box on either side. There was a porch swing to the right of the door, and some empty clay flowerpots. The door opened into a tiny vestibule that served as a mud room, with doors to the two flats on facing walls. Lisa knocked on the right-hand door.

An old woman opened the door. “Hello, dear,” she said. “Come on in – Ashley’s in the kitchen.” Her accent was local, with just a touch of County Clare underneath.

A little blue-eyed blonde girl, 5 yrs old or so, rocketed out of an inside doorway. “Mommy’s home!” she yelled.

Lisa scooped the child up. “Hi, Angel!” she said. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Mommy.” The child was uncommonly beautiful, Hannah saw – full-grown, she would be a knockout like her mother.

Lisa set Ashley down. “Where are your shoes?” she asked.

“They hurt my feet,” Ashley said. Hannah saw the look on Lisa’s face – yet another expense, replacing the outgrown shoes, as if there weren’t enough already.

“I’m Hannah Davis,” she said brightly, changing the subject. “I work with Lisa.”

The old woman smiled. “Rosie Gallagher,” she said. “Welcome to my house.” She was well past 80 from the look of her, still straight-backed and erect, with skin like old porcelain, a mop of silver-blue curls and cheerful blue eyes behind old-fashioned spectacles.

“My landlady and babysitter,” Lisa said unnecessarily. “And a good friend to us both. I don’t know how we’d manage without her.”

Hannah looked around. Like the homes of many old people, this one was over-furnished – big old furniture and lots of little dust-catchers. But it didn’t have the typical closed-up smell of old furniture and old cooking – it smelled of Murphy’s Oil Soap and cookies in the oven. Scattered around the room were those sad, shabby little Christmas decorations that elderly widows put out when it’s too much trouble to put up a tree any more.

One wall was covered with framed photos. There was a wedding picture from the 1920’s. A family group of the same young couple with a little boy, maybe Ashley’s age. A picture of the same boy, a few years older, in a Boy Scout uniform from the 1930’s, short pants and Smokey Bear hat. There were others too. She looked closer at one – a hand-tinted portrait of a young soldier in a World War II uniform, with Jump Wings and a Combat Infantry Badge on his chest. Wartime promotions come fast – his body was angled to show off the sergeant’s stripes on his arm below the Screaming Eagle of the 101st Airborne. Next to it was a frame that held just a Purple Heart Medal on faded black velvet.

The old woman saw Hannah looking. “My son Timothy,” she said. “He was killed on Christmas Day 1944, in the Battle of the Bulge. They were cut off, Pat and me didn’t find out until after the New Year.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss,” Hannah said, for once at a loss for words.

“After the War, the Army sent me that medal and a flag,” Mrs. Gallagher said – for people her age, there was only one war, always capitalized. “I fly Tim’s flag on 4th of July and such – that’s what he was fighting for, after all.” Not much emotion showing – the psychic wound was an old one, scarred over long ago.

“Hannah and I have to study this morning, Angel,” Lisa said. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Ashley promised. “Bye, Grams!”

“Mrs. Gallagher’s kin to you?” Hannah asked as they were crossing the vestibule.

Lisa unlocked the door. “No, Ashley came up with that one on her own.” A touch of bitterness: “Why not? It’s not like my parents have anything to do with us.”

The living room was furnished with ratty cast-offs – there was an old TV with rabbit ears too, and a cheap stereo. The wiring was an afterthought, surface-wired in twisted pairs stapled next to doorways and along the baseboards, covered now by generations of old paint. A hallway went toward the back along the common wall. The whole place was heated by two gas floor furnaces, one at each end of the hall. On the left side of the hall were three doorways.

Lisa opened the middle door, put away her coat and got her books. Hannah peeked in – it was neat but crowded, with a full size bed and a twin, a big old dresser and wardrobe, brick-and-board book shelves, and a wood-slat orange crate that held yard-sale toys. Another door, the one closest to the living room, opened into Lisa’s room too – apparently the place had had three bedrooms once, but two small ones had been combined into one.

They continued back along the hall, past another closed door. Hannah heard snoring behind that one and looked an unspoken question at her new friend.

“My room mate and some asshole she brought home,” Lisa said. “Must’ve got in after I left for work.”

The eat-in kitchen had a scarred table and four bent-cane chairs, painted cabinets, an old round-shouldered refrigerator and a matching gas stove. High on the common wall was a round metal plate that covered the flue once used by a coal stove. The place was trashed – dirty dishes on the table, egg shells and coffee grounds in the sink, a skillet and grease spatters on the stove, stuff spilled on the floor.

“I’ll kill that bitch,” Lisa said in a low voice, tears of anger and frustration welling up.

“Easy now,” Hannah said. “Make some coffee and sit down – I’ll handle this. Where’s your mop?”

“Bathroom – through that door,” Lisa said.

The house predated indoor plumbing – the bathroom was a converted pantry, with another door that led outside onto a narrow back porch. They must keep the inner door open most of the time all winter, thought Hannah, otherwise the pipes would freeze. The fuse box on the wall had just four circuits for the whole flat – an electric heater would blow fuses like popcorn.

Hannah filled a bucket and got to work. Lisa had cleared and wiped the table and stove – Hannah chased her away from the sink and finished washing up. She returned the mop and bucket to the bathroom and poured herself a cup of coffee. She heard cartoon music from the front of the house – apparently Ashley was watching TV.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Lisa said, eyes downcast. “I’d throw her out, but I can’t afford this place without a room mate. Grams would let me slide for a while, but all she has is her Social Security – she lost her pension when the mill went under, she baby-sits Ashley for free, and the rent barely pays the taxes and utilities.”

Hannah reached out and wordlessly squeezed Lisa’s hand.

Lisa squeezed back. “We’ve just met, and already you’re a good friend, Hannah. I’ll get through this. Always have. Now let’s see what’s got you stumped.”

The math actually started making sense after a while. Hannah began to feel a little hope that she could pass the course after all. “You ought to teach,” she told Lisa.

“No money in it,” Lisa said. “I’ll do better with engineering. I owe it to Ashley – she shouldn’t have to grow up poor just because I fucked up.” A thoughtful pause. “But if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have her.” Another pause. “Damn, but he was good-looking! A jerk, but a handsome jerk.”

Hannah didn’t ask about child support. It was obvious that the guy wasn’t paying any.

Ashley came back to the kitchen for a glass of milk during their study break. The little girl was about to open the refrigerator when Lisa’s room mate came into the room – bed head, smeared makeup, wearing just a robe. She was weaving, unsteady on her feet. Hannah recalled a Yankee expression – her eyes looked like two piss holes in the snow.

“Move it, kid,” the girl said, and brushed by headed toward the bathroom.

“Margaret Mary Mulcahy,” Lisa said. “My room mate, and all-around swell person.”

“A real winner,” Hannah said. Manners still count for something in the South – rudeness to an inoffensive child was unforgiveable.

“She’s just drunk,” Ashley said in a matter-of-fact tone. She opened the refrigerator – Hannah saw that there wasn’t much in it – got her milk and went back to the TV.

That was heartbreaking, that the little girl should have to tolerate this. Like that poor kid back home. Jackie Griffin slung hash at the diner near the interstate. She had a fatherless daughter, bleach blonde hair and an eye for the guys – at age 25 or so, she was high mileage and beginning to show it. After school and all summer long, Jackie sat her daughter at a table in a back corner, and expected the girl to keep quiet and not make trouble. Their home life didn’t bear thinking about. Poor Rachel! She was 10 or thereabouts – unless she had an extreme run of good luck, in a few years the little redheaded girl would wind up just like her mother.

Jackie was trailer trash. So was Peggy. Lisa wasn’t. Not that the smug Merlot Liberals in this town would see the difference...

The toilet flushed. “Good morning, Peggy,” Lisa said in a brittle tone. “Rough night?”

“Fuck you,” the girl said, and shuffled back toward her room. She looked to be 18 or 19, pretty enough, a petite girl with Celtic-fair skin and a dusting of freckles, long brown hair and hazel eyes. Nice shape and decent legs too. She might clean up well enough, Hannah judged, once she dries out.

“She’ll sleep half the afternoon,” Lisa said. “Wake up hung over and mean as cat shit, then do it again tonight.”

“How do you stand it?” Hannah asked.

“What choice do I have?” Lisa responded. “She’s pleasant enough when she hasn’t been drinking – on the surface anyway. She had me fooled for a while. Now... Oh, screw it!” and burst into tears.

Hannah gave what consolation she could – not much. She left soon afterward – Lisa was working this afternoon. She put her new math skills to work on a budget. A trip home at Christmas was out of the question. Fortunately, the car had found a buyer – she had money to pre-pay the next semester’s tuition. Maybe by next summer she could raise her grades enough to qualify for financial aid. But no matter how she sliced it, the remaining money wasn’t enough to live on, even with the income from her job. She had to find a cheaper place to live.

There was the lease, of course. But the real problem was that apartments in college towns typically change hands only at the end of the school year. There weren’t many people looking for a place this time of year, so it was doubtful if Hannah could find somebody to take the place over. And even if she did, there wasn’t much else available at any price.

Hannah and Lisa became fast friends over the next week. She was spending more time at Lisa’s place than her own – Peggy was gone much of the time, so it was actually a quieter place to study. Hannah had no particular desire to have children, but she couldn’t help bonding to little Ashley too. And the old lady – Mrs. Gallagher reminded Hannah of her own grandmother.

One such afternoon, Lisa checked the mail box and extracted a window envelope. “All right!” she crowed. “This is gonna help a lot!”

“A bill?” Hannah asked, perplexed.

“No – a check for $200.00. Ashley’s working too – let me show you.”

They went inside. Lisa had a sales paper on her dresser, the sort that comes stuffed in the Sunday newspaper. One picture showed four little girls in pajamas, ages 5 to 10 or so. Hannah looked closer – the youngest was Ashley, looking angelic in pink footie pajamas.

“I did some modeling, before... Well, I still know some people at the ad agencies,” Lisa said. “And every little bit helps. Maybe I’ll buy her some PJ’s like that – she’s about outgrown the ones she has.”

Hannah went next door to get Ashley. The little girl’s face lit up. “Aunt Hannah!” she yelled. “Look at what I’ve got!”

That was another new development, but Hannah discovered she didn’t mind at all. “Let’s see, Angel,” she said – it just slipped out, but it felt right.

It was a cheesy thing, a Christmas treetop angel. Hannah’s Baptist upbringing told her that angels were messengers from God, to be feared and respected as befits their status. But this was a cherubic Episcopal angel. The body was a cardboard cone, taller than it was wide, with a satiny white polyester gown and wings sprayed with glitter. It was blonde, with a doll’s head and hands of painted plaster, and faintly epicanthic folds on the eyes. Made in Hong Kong, Hannah judged, or maybe Malaysia.

“She’s beautiful, sweetie,” Hannah said. “She looks just like you.”

“Grams gave her to me,” Ashley said. “That’s what she said too.”

“Hush a moment,” Mrs. Gallagher said. “Let me listen to this.” Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas”. She was quiet for a moment when it was finished. She looked a little melancholy, Hannah thought.

“What’s the matter, Grams?” Hannah asked. That felt right too.

“That never was a Christmas song to those of us who lived through the War,” Mrs. Gallagher said. “Or at least not entirely.”

“Why? What do you mean?” Hannah asked.

“It came out in 1942,” the old woman said. “Worst part of the War. There was no defeatism, mind ye. No, we all wanted to win it, so the people we loved could come home to us. Listen to the words, girl. That’s what “White Christmas” meant to us.”

Hannah had never thought of that. It had been part of the background noise of the season all her life.

“I think of it as Tim’s song,” Mrs. Gallagher said. “He was fighting for that too.” She turned away a little too quickly and turned off the radio. “Better get to your studies, dear. You’ll learn nothing talking to me.”

“Let’s find your angel a home,” Hannah said as she and Ashley crossed to the other flat. “Maybe the coffee table for now.”

“I wish you could live here with us, Aunt Hannah,” Ashley said.

“I’d like that too, Angel,” Hannah said gently. “Maybe someday.”

Hannah got to know Peggy too. Sober, the girl was superficially friendly and outgoing, but in reality it was like a performance. There was something false and brittle about it all. Hannah sometimes caught her checking herself out in a mirror or other reflective surface as she talked with others. She was selfish and manipulative, vindictive, surly when she didn’t get her way. And when she was drinking or hung over, she was a cast-iron bitch.

Mrs. Gallagher explained it one evening, when Hannah and Lisa were taking a study break. They were at the old woman’s kitchen table with cups of tea. The radio was playing softly in the background, heavy on the Christmas music. Ashley was in the living room, putting a puzzle together on the coffee table – she had about as many of her things here as she did in her own flat.

“Peggy’s got the Irish disease,” the woman said.

“Hmm? What’s that, Grams?” Hannah asked.

“A fondness for drink, dear,” Mrs. Gallagher answered. “Common enough hereabouts, years ago. There was a saloon across from the mill – the men would stop there for a nip after work. Some of ‘em would go home an’ drink all evening – never drunk, understand, just enough to knock the edge off. Then up in the morning, an’ never miss a day of work. My brother-in-law Michael was like that, God rest him.”

“But Peggy gets hammered,” Lisa said. “She’s a mean drunk.”

“And none too nice when she’s sober,” Mrs. Gallagher added. “But she never misses work either. Michael was like that too, at your age.” A pause. “Mind ye, he was a bit more discriminating in his choice of company. But times change, and not necessarily for the better.”

New England weather in early winter is nothing if not changeable. A warm front blew through and turned everything to slush. A cold front followed right after, cold rain that changed to sleet as they were leaving the campus after their afternoon classes. They took shelter under a storefront awning across from the campus – an antique store, the sort of place that moves into quaint small-town business districts after the old-time merchants get walmarted out.

They checked it out – it would be warm at least. A bell jingled as they opened the door. Hannah looked around. Inside, it was about what she expected – a place for people who had more money than taste. There was a middle aged man sorting old books at the back of the room. A woman about the same age was puttering with some figurines near him. Hannah overheard bits of conversation, the sort a couple long married might have.

The woman looked over at the girls. “Can I help you?” she called out.

“Just looking,” Lisa said hastily. The woman frowned – she knew they were just killing time – but she let it pass.

Hannah wasn’t impressed with most of the merchandise. There was old crockery and household gadgets, her grandmother had thrown away better stuff. Old books, old post cards and old photos. Modern glass paperweights in old patterns, with the yellowish tinge of Asian manufacture. Indian brass work, metal 1950’s school-lunch boxes, cheap Spanish lodge swords that would probably bend like pretzels. Some of the furniture looked like it had been beaten with chains.

But there were a few good pieces. Hannah spotted a crystal candlestick among a bunch of marigold-yellow Depression glass. “Doesen’t Grams have...?” she started.

“Yah, the one on the table near the front door,” Lisa said. “One of a pair, I suppose, but I’ve never seen the other one. Broken, maybe.”

The real find was on top of a glass-front book case near the back, between a stuffed owl and an old globe. It was an Art-Deco winged sprite or faerie, a tabletop sculpture or statuette in the style of Ferdinand Preiss. She looked vibrantly alive, poised to go airborne from a running start – nude except for a brief shift, leaning forward, tiptoe on one foot with the other leg drawn up, arms and wings spread. Her hair trailed behind her like a flag. Hannah had seen the Preiss original at the Metropolitan Museum in New York, rendered in bronze and tinted ivory on a marble base.

This one was a knockoff, the sort of thing that had been popular and inexpensive in the 1920’s. But it was an uncommonly good one, wings about two hand-spans tip-to-tip, finely detailed right down to the eyelashes and the nails on fingers and toes. Probably Bakelite, Hannah thought. It was a common industrial plastic at the time – brittle if overstressed, but strong, rigid and dimensionally stable. The painted faux-marble base had probably been weighted at one time, but it was hollow now – the figure weighed practically nothing despite its size.

Hannah looked closer. The artist’s model had been lovely – and she could have been Lisa’s twin.

“You girls gonna buy something?” the woman asked. “This isn’t an art gallery.” Probably thought we came in here to boost something, thought Hannah.

Lisa colored. “There’s nothing here I can afford,” she said tightly. “Sorry we bothered you. C’mon, Hannah, let’s go.”

“Merry Christmas!” the man said as they left.

Lisa’s cheerful nature was taking a beating, surrounded by rampant consumerism and false good cheer. She looked thinner – probably skipping meals so Ashley would have enough. She set a brisk pace on their way to her place – her coat wasn’t quite warm enough. She had finally given the clogs up in favor of winter boots, but that wasn’t much improvement – they didn’t fit very well, and were worn out besides.

Ashley was napping – Lisa left her with Mrs. Gallagher. Peggy was there for a change, watching some mindless soap opera – she looked up briefly when the others came in, and went back to her show without a word of greeting. Lisa started a pot of coffee – they had studying to do.

“You look tired,” Hannah said. “Why don’t you take a bath and relax? Warm you up too.”

Lisa shivered, chilled or exhausted or both. “I’ll do just that,” she said. “Check on me in a few minutes – don’t want to go to sleep and drown.”

Lisa emerged after a while, wrapped in a robe with a towel turbaned around her hair. She padded barefoot to her room. Still looks depressed, Hannah thought. Too bad there’s nothing–

But there is. Weird, but it might work. Did on me anyway. She pulled off her boots and followed Lisa on silent sock feet.

Lisa was in her room, working the last of the water out of her hair with the towel, effectively blindfolded. The same technique ought to work – Hannah grabbed Lisa’s robe lapels from behind. She yanked them outward, backward and down, pinning Lisa’s arms to her sides. Still holding on, Hannah ran Lisa forward onto the bed. She grabbed Lisa’s ankles, swung her friend lengthwise on the bed and scrambled after. No bondage material, she hadn’t been prepared – improvise! She sat on Lisa facing aft, grabbed her ankles, pulled, and trapped Lisa’s legs in the figure-four leg lock.

“Hey!” Lisa protested. “Get off!”

“Nope, you could use a few laughs,” Hannah said cheerfully, fingers poised over Lisa’s soft pink upturned soles. She circled a nail on a heel.

“Han– hehe! –naa– haha! Noooo!” Lisa begged and giggled. “Sta– haha! –ap!”

“Time for you to laugh,” Hannah said, and got to work. Lisa arched her back and laughed at the top of her lungs.

Lisa was off-the-scale ticklish – everything Hannah did drove her wild. She tickled Lisa’s heels two-handed, and helpless laughter flooded out. Lisa’s arches were next – Hannah covered them with tiny nail flicks, barely touching but tickling like crazy. She tickled the soles – Lisa’s toes twitched and curled as she laughed and laughed. Then holding the toes back, she drew fast, looping figure-eight’s around the balls of Lisa’s feet. Twice each circuit, she got on the creases in the exact center of the soles and gave them a few extra nail flicks. Each time, Lisa’s laughter went off the scale.

“What the hell are you doing to her?” Peggy asked from the open doorway.

“What’s it look like? I’m tickling the shit out of her,” Hannah answered. Her tickling fingers speeded up – Lisa laughed with wild abandon, red-faced, tears running down her cheeks.

Peggy shuddered. “Better her than me,” she said. “I got enough of that from my brothers. I hate it!”

“Well, she’s not complaining,” Hannah said, and switched to a guitar-chording motion in Lisa’s arches. “Hey Lisa, want me to stop?”

But Lisa was laughing much too hard to answer.

“You’re weird,” Peggy said, shaking her head. “Both of you.” And then she was gone.

By then, Hannah had been tickling Lisa for a good 6 or 7 minutes. She varied her technique, and held Lisa on the edge for a long, long time. Lisa laughed, and giggled, and laughed some more while time expanded and the tickling filled her universe. She stopped struggling, all resistance tickled out of her. All she could do was laugh and laugh as Hannah’s fingernails danced and flicked, covering both feet with unbearable tickling.

Hannah spread Lisa’s right little toe apart from its neighbor and tickled in between. She tickled between each pair, and was rewarded with burst after burst of ticklish laughter. Lisa howled with forced mirth as Hannah held her toes back again and tickled the soft skin underneath.Then side to side on the stretched out soles, paying particular attention to the creases, and tickled Lisa into gasping, red-faced silent laughter.

Hannah quit and dismounted. Lisa was rumpled and sweaty, breathless, her ribs and abs must hurt from laughing. She worked the robe back up to her shoulders, rolled onto her back and shuffled her feet to get the tickle off.

“Oh ghod that tickled!” Lisa said. She plucked at her robe. “I’m gonna need another bath. Why– ”

Hannah grinned impishly. “Because you needed to laugh a little.”

“A little! More like a lot!” She sat up and looked thoughtful. “But I feel pretty good. Must be endorphins from laughing. Never woulda thunk it.”

“Something I learned from Robert E. Lee,” Hannah said.

Bewilderment. “The general?”

“Not hardly. I’ll have to– ”

A knock and a voice at the door – Mrs. Gallagher bring Ashley home. “I’ll tell you later,” Hannah said. “I’ll get the door while you get dressed. Then let’s get to work.”

They finished their shift one gray snowy day and walked to Lisa’s place together. Hannah’s grandmother had taught her the art of country cooking – tasty, filling and above all cheap. The raw materials were already in the fridge, bought the day before.

Mrs. Gallagher joined them for dinner – crisp fried chicken, fluffy biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, a mess of turnip greens. Stores around here threw the greens away – Hannah got them for free, and that had left her just enough cash for a poinsettia. Afterward, they sat at the table with coffee. Ashley’s was mostly milk – the old lady produced a flask and tipped some liquid into the others.

“Poteen,” she said. “Irish whiskey – a little warmth for a cold night.” She lifted her cup. “Here’s to ye!”

Hannah heard the front door open, voices and clumping footsteps. Lisa went to investigate. Angry voices – Lisa’s and a man’s. Hannah and the old lady got up and moved toward the disturbance.

Peggy had made an early start – she was hammered, glassy-eyed, supported by a big young guy with an arm around her. He had been drinking too, but much less than the girl. His intentions were pretty obvious.

“Get out!” Lisa hissed, goaded beyond endurance. “Look at her – she’s wasted! Go home and jerk off!”

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked belligerently. Time to call the Law, thought Hannah. She looked around for a phone. There wasn’t one – Lisa couldn’t afford it.

“I live here, asshole!” Lisa yelled. “I won’t have the likes of you in my house!” Mrs Gallagher was gone – must have gone out the back to her own place to use the phone.

The guy shoved Lisa hard. She staggered back, tripped over the coffee table and fell. It collapsed under her with a crash. Hannah heaved the poinsettia at him. He let go of Peggy and ducked – the flowerpot missed and smashed against the wall. Peggy slumped down to the floor, passed out.

Ashley came running out. “Leave my mommy alone!” she yelled. The guy shoved the child away and turned to Lisa, just starting to get up.

“Think again, me boy,” Mrs. Gallagher said from the vestibule, just outside her open door. “Maybe it’s best ye leave now, while ye can.”

“Just what d’you plan to do if I don’t?” he asked.

A small black pistol materialized in her hand. “Faith, lad, I’ll shoot ye dead,” she said cheerfully. The woman must be pumped on adrenaline, Hannah thought. No New England accent now – this was pure County Clare.

“I don’t think so,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

She racked the slide. “Would I not,” she said, eyes steely blue behind the spectacles. “D’ye care t’ bet yer life on that?” Her upper right arm was angled back, the pistol at waist height, forearm hard against her body. Her left lower arm was across her body, hand cupping the pistol butt. It was the close-quarters stance of an experienced gunfighter – she could empty the magazine into him before he got close enough to make a grab. Her gun hand was rock steady.

That sobered him up in a hurry. “What do you want me to do?” he asked nervously.

“Why, I’ll take yer wallet, yer watch an’ yer shoes,” the woman said. “Right now, if ye please.”

He complied, tossed the things down in front of him. “What now?” he asked.

“Ye’ve got ‘til I count ten t’ run fer yer life,” she said. “One. Two...”

“OK, OK!” he said. “I’m gone! Crazy old bitch!” Hannah heard his car crank up. If the street had been dry, he might have laid rubber getting away.

“My angel!” Ashley wailed, holding the ruin in her hands. Lisa had crushed it when she fell.

“I’ll get ye another,” Mrs. Gallagher said. She went to lay the pistol down, thought better of it. Hannah took it from her and cleared it. Empty! Not even a magazine!

“Would you really have shot him?” Lisa asked. She was on one knee with an arm around Ashley, hugging the crying child.

“Didn’t have to, now did I?” the woman said. “Just as well – I don’t even know how t’ load the wee thing.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Imagine that! Doin’ a robbery at my age! Takes me back t’ the ould days, it does!”

“You’ve... done this before?” Hannah asked, shocked.

“I robbed banks t’ support th’ Brotherhood durin’ th’ Troubles,” Mrs. Gallagher said. “Rosie McLachlan, I was then. Left Ireland one jump ahead o’ th’ Black an’ Tans.” She chuckled. “I had a Colt’s revolver back in th’ day. Might’ve done as well withoot it – sometimes, ‘twas just t’ gi’ the clark an excuse t’ gi’ me th’ money.”

“The Brotherhood? You were in the IRA?” Lisa asked.

“Those murtherin’ spalpeens!” the woman said indignantly. “No, lass, th’ Irish Republican Brotherhood. We fought th’ British, not other Irishmen.”

“But what if he goes to the Law?” Hannah asked.

“D’you really think he will?” was the answer. The adrenaline rush must be fading – the brogue was just about gone. “He’d have to tell th’ story. Robbed by an old woman! I think not!” She looked around. “Hannah love, take those things down the block an’ throw ‘em in the dumpster at the gas station. Mind you don’t leave fingerprints. I’ll help Lisa put Peggy to bed.”

“How about the gun?” Hannah asked.

“Tim sent it to me husband during the War,” she said. “It’s been in Pat’s sock drawer ever since. John Law doesen’t know I have it.” Another chuckle. “Not that they’d look. The cops in this town grew up in the Village – I know ‘em all, and their families too.”

And she was right – nothing came of it. But it was a temporary solution to a very real problem. Hannah resolved to solve it once and for all. But how?

Christmas was just two weeks off when it came to her. She hadn’t spent much time with her neighbors lately. Tina’s apartment was dark, but Robbie’s lights were on. Was that laughter she heard? She knocked on his door to check it out.

Robbie let her in. Tina was there too, in one of the armchairs. Her hands were tied behind her back, her legs through the legs of a kitchen stool. Her ankles were resting on the far-side brace, tied together and tied off to the brace. Her big toes were tied together with string.

“Hi, Liz!” Tina called out. She looked a little sweaty and rumpled – Robbie had been tickling her hard. The girls had made him an honorary Irregular – he might not be ticklish, but he was a fiendish and inventive tickler.

“We haven’t seen much of you lately. Want some of this?” Tina asked, wiggling her toes.

That was it! “Hey, y’all, I’m gonna ask y’all for a great big I-owe-ya-one.” She proceeded to explain.

“I dunno,” Robbie said dubiously. “That’s kinda raw.”

“Since when has that ever bothered you?” Tina asked. “I’ll back you, Liz, even if he doesen’t.” She grinned. “You’re out of practice though. Why don’t you take care of that right now?”

Hannah grinned back. “Best offer I’ve had all day.” She kneeled facing Tina’s trapped feet and sat back on her heels, then held Tina’s toes back and flicked her nails in the exact center of Tina’s right sole. Tina bucked and squirmed – she lost it and laughed her head off.

Hannah tickled back and forth across both stretched out soles, then released the toes and tickled the soles again, watching the toes twitch and curl. Then down the soles and arches to the ticklish heels, drawing circles and other tickling shapes, while Tina laughed like a madwoman. Hannah backed off a little to give her some air, then speeded up again. Tina laughed helplessly, howling with forced mirth.

Hannah spread Tina’s toes, tickling between each pair, forcing more bursts of helpless laughter. She held the toes back and tickled the soft skin underneath, tickling side to side, over and over. Tina went wild, squirming, laughing at the top of her lungs, trying desperately to pull her feet away. Hannah put on a burst of speed, fingernails flying, and tickled Tina’s breath away.

“Not too shabby,” Robbie said, and gave Hannah a hand up. “I think you’ll do fine. When’s this gonna happen?”

“Soon,” Hannah promised. “I’ll give y’all a call when it does.”

“Want to go next?” he asked.

“Rain check,” Hannah said. “I need to get some sleep. Afterward... well, both of y’all can go medieval on me, and maybe I’ll have a new Irregular by then too.”

“Suits,” Robbie said. “Ready for some more, Tina?”

“I was born ready,” she said. “Give me more!”

“I’ll let myself out,” Hannah said.

“Kitchey-koo!” Robbie said, and dug in.

“Eep!” Tina squealed. “HAHAHA! HAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!” The walls were paper thin. Hannah was still hearing Tina’s laughter as she drifted off to sleep.

The opportunity arose the following Friday, a week before Christmas. Hannah had a key to Lisa’s apartment – she got Ashley from Mrs. Gallagher, let herself in, put her books on the kitchen table and started a pot of coffee. It was 9:45, Lisa would be home from her job at the Trough soon.

Peggy must have come home early and alone – she was sound asleep, cocooned in her blankets. She had left her door open to get some of the floor furnace’s meager heat. Perfect!

“Do me a favor, Angel,” Hannah said to Ashley.

“Sure, Aunt Hannah. What?”

“Go back to Grams’ house and watch TV. No matter what you hear, stay there.”

The little girl looked puzzled. “Why? What’s gonna happen?” she asked.

“I’m gonna have a talk with Peggy,” Hannah said. “You don’t need to see it.”

“OK,” the girl said with perfect trust. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Angel,” Hannah said. “Now run along.”

Decks cleared for action, Hannah pulled off her boots and slipped silently into Peggy’s room. Hannah carefully peeled the spread off the bed and worked it under the remaining covers next to the sleeping girl. She went around to the other side of the bed and grabbed the covers. One hard yank, and they were on the floor. Instantly, Hannah rolled Peggy onto the spread, scrambled onto the bed and rolled Peggy up in the spread like a burrito.

“Mmf! Hey! What the fuck...” Peggy said through the muffling folds of cloth, still half asleep.

Hannah gave Peggy another half-roll onto her back. “We’re gonna have a talk, girlfriend,” she said. She folded the spread back from Peggy’s face. “Think of this as a jump-start to our discussion.” She rolled the spread up on the bottom to expose Peggy’s feet, then sat on the bed and trapped her legs in a simple leg lock. She stroked a single nail in a circle around the ball of Peggy’s right foot.

“Oh SHIT!” Peggy wailed, wide awake now. “Sta– haha –ap! Don’t tic– Haha! Tickle mee– Hehehe!”

“Did you just ask me to tickle you?” Hannah asked. “You just said “tickle me”, didn’t you?”

“NOOO! HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA! HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHA!” Peggy laughed as Hannah’s well manicured nails flicked her ticklish heels.

“Oh yes,” Hannah said. She spread Peggy’s left little toe apart from its neighbor and scratched between them. Peggy let out a yelp and laughed her head off. She had a great tickle laugh, a sweet musical soprano, not scratchy at all.

“Have I got your attention yet, Peggy?” Hannah asked sweetly. But Peggy wasn’t capable of speech – she was laughing too hard.

Streams of laughter poured out of Peggy as Hannah tickled between her toes, held them back and tickled under them, circled a nail around the balls of both feet in a big figure-eight. She tickled down Peggy’s arches and onto the heels, flicking with her nails like chording a guitar. She hit the sweet spot – the arch just in front of the heel and onto the heel behind, where it really, really tickled – and Peggy’s laughter went off the chart.

Save that for later, Hannah thought – I’ve got plenty of time. She tickled back up the arches, drawing circles and other tickling shapes on the sensitive skin just behind the soles. She tickled both soles again, watching the toes twitch and curl as Peggy laughed at the top of her lungs.

Hannah tickled her way across between each pair of toes, forcing stream after stream of laughter. Peggy laughed helplessly as Hannah held her toes back and tickled back across on the soft skin underneath. Then across again on the stretched out soles while Peggy laughed and laughed. Hannah released the toes and tickled both soles, watching the toes twitch and curl. Down both arches, drawing overlapping circles that tickled like crazy, and onto the heels, nail tips dancing on the ticklish flesh. By now, Peggy’s senses were wide open. She was beyond ticklish – everything Hannah did drove the girl wild.

“What are you doing?” Lisa asked from the doorway. “Have you gone crazy?”

Hannah’s nails kept up their tickling dance, and making Peggy laugh like a crazy woman. “Nope,” Hannah said, answering the second question first. “She hates this. I’m motivating her to move on.” She picked up the pace, tickling the sweet spots, and Peggy laughed at the top of her lungs.

“Good! Keep it up!” Lisa said. “Maybe I’ll tickle her too – she deserves a dose of misery.”

Hannah kept tickling Peggy, using two fingernails to draw figure-eight’s around and onto the balls of both feet, forcing stream after stream of wild ticklish laughter. Fortunately, Hannah had tickled Tina a lot since the start of the term – she had a well-practiced touch that kept Peggy laughing wildly but didn’t tickle her out.

Peggy laughed and laughed as Hannah tickled her soles two-handed, watching the toes twitch and curl. Hannah tickled down the girl’s arches to the ticklish heels and lingered there, drawing figure-eights and other tickling shapes – Peggy laughed her head off. Hannah’s figure-eight’s turned to overlapping circles again, up both arches, and then circled just behind the soles, tickling unbearably. The tickling sensation had completely overcome her – all she could do was lay there and laugh.

“Time to finish her off,” Hannah said. Her tickling fingernails still had her victim laughing madly, tears running down her cheeks. She tickled Peggy’s arches and heels two handed, and tickled Peggy into red-faced silent laughter.

“Ready to talk business yet?” Hannah asked. She flicked her nail tips lightly on Peggy’s soles, and was rewarded with a stream of giggles.

“You– hehe! –crazy bitch! Hahaha! Let me– HAHAHA! –GO! Hehe-HAHA-haha-hehe!” Peggy laughed and giggled out.

“I guess the answer’s no,” Hannah said. She got to work – the giggles morphed into solid laughter.

“Mind if I try that?” Lisa asked over the sound of Peggy’s helpless laughter.

“Help yourself,” Hannah said, and gave up her place to Lisa.

“Goddammit, don’t tickle me! I hate it!” Peggy said furiously. “Get me out of this thing, or I’ll– ”

Hannah overrode her protest. “Ever done this before?” she asked Lisa. “Well, faster is better. Nail tips work best. And the best spot is right here.” Hannah illustrated by tickling the sweet spots, and was rewarded with a burst of laughter.

“OK, I’ve got the idea,” Lisa said. “Here it comes, bitch!” Her well-manicured nails flicked and scratched the ticklish flesh. Peggy arched her back and laughed her head off.

Lisa was unskilled but enthusiastic. No matter – by then, Peggy’s feet were sensitized by the tickling. Her sweet soprano laughter poured out as Lisa danced her fingernails in both arches. Peggy laughed helplessly while Lisa tickled her heels, around the edges, back to the center, then back onto the arches again. And now the soles got their share of attention – Lisa held the toes back and tickled side to side on the stretched out soles. Peggy howled with forced mirth, red faced, eyes closed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Finally, maximum tickle torture – Lisa tickled Peggy mercilessly, tickling two handed in both arches and onto the heels behind. Peggy’s wild ticklish laughter echoed in the little room. It was more than she could bear – Lisa tickled her breathless again.

“Did it tickle, Peggy?” Lisa asked. “How about this?” and traced a figure-eight around the balls of both feet.

“Noooo!” Peggy wailed. “Don’t tick– HAHAHA! –tickle me– hehehe! –any more! Hehe! HAHA-hahahehe-HAHAHAHA!”

“Hey, this is a lot of fun,” Lisa said. “How long d’you think we can keep this up before we tickle her to death?”

“A long time,” Hannah replied. “Hear that, Peggy? Swap places with me, Lisa.”

Hannah tickled Peggy’s heels again, and got another wild burst of laughter. She switched to random nail flicks. “Ready to talk business?”

“Hehehe! Go to– Hee! HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA! HAHAHA-HAHAHA-HAHAHA!”

Hannah prolonged the tickle torture this time. She tickled Peggy’s heels, up her arches and onto her soles. She scratched between two toes, tickling like crazy. Peggy laughed like mad as Hannah repeated it between the other toes. She tickled from toes to heels and back, well-manicured nails flicking, while Peggy laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more.

A short break, just enough for Peggy to catch her breath, and then Hannah held Peggy’s toes back and tickled the stretched out soles. Peggy’s wild laughter streamed out as Hannah spider-walked her nails side to side on the ticklish skin underneath the toes. Hannah tickled the balls of Peggy’s feet, then released the toes and tickled two-handed down both arches to the heels. Peggy’s laughter went off the scale as Hannah tickled the sweet spots, fingernails flying. Hannah showed no mercy, and reduced Peggy to gasping, red-faced silent laughter.

“I bet that really, really tickled,” Lisa said cheerfully. “My turn again?”

“Not yet,” Hannah answered. Peggy flinched as Hannah touched her nail tips to the ticklish soles again. She scratched lightly in Peggy’s arches. “Got anything to say now?”

“No! Hehehe! Yes! Haha-haha! Stopitstopitstopit!” Peggy giggled and begged. “Haha-HAHA-haha! Please, please, no more!” She was a mess, hair tangled, sweaty, cheeks streaked with tears.

Hannah kept her nail-tips just touching Peggy’s sole. “OK then,” she said. “Here’s how it’s gonna go. You and me, we’re gonna trade apartments. Today.”

“We’re gonna what?” Peggy asked. “HAHAHA-HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA! Oh Ghod! Please don’t tickle me any more!”

“You heard me,” Hannah said. “You don’t live here any more. You’re gonna pack your shit and move into my place. I’m coming here. Or else– ” She tickled a heel.

“HAHAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA! NOOOO! I’ll move! Stop tickling me, I can’t stand any more!”

Hannah untangled her legs from Peggy’s and stood up. “I’ll go next door and call for transportation,” she said. “I’ve already got it set up on the other end. Oh, and I’ll call the property managers too, so it’ll all be ready when we get there.”

“Take your time,” Lisa said. She sat and trapped Peggy’s ankles in a leg lock again. “I’m sure I can find something to occupy us while we’re waiting.” She traced a circle around the ball of one foot. “Right, girlfriend?”

“Hehehe! Ple– hehe! –ease! Sta– haha –ap! It’s torture!”

“Yup,” Lisa said. “We call this The Agony of de Feet. Like I said, take your time, Hannah – I’m enjoying this.”

Peggy’s helpless laughter followed Hannah as she went next door.

Robbie and Tina showed up a few minutes later in two separate cars. The TV and stereo were Peggy’s, but no matter – Hannah had better ones. Packing the rest was easy. They simply dumped Peggy’s clothes on the bed, gathered the sheets and blankets by the corners and made a big bundle. Peggy had already thrown some clothes on – she was ready to go.

First stop was the garage apartments. Hannah and Peggy went to the real estate company office in the old mansion to deal with the lease. Tina packed Hannah’s clothes the same way they had Peggy’s, while Robbie unloaded and reloaded both cars. Then Hannah took Tina’s car back to Lisa’s place, with Robbie following along in his with the rest of the gear. The whole process took just over three hours.

“Go ahead and take the car back, Hannah,” Mrs. Gallagher said when everything was inside. “We’ll unpack your things for you. And thank you, young man – you’re a good friend.” Her eyes twinkled. “Handsome, too. We’ll have to have him over for dinner, won’t we, love?”

“OK, Grams, see you in an hour.”

“Is that what I am, Liz?” Robbie asked on the way out to the cars. “A good friend?”

Hannah said nothing, and that was answer enough.

Robbie sighed. “Too good to last, I suppose. At least I’m a good friend. Know what the difference is?” A pause. “A friend helps you move. A good friend helps you move bodies. That’s kinda what this feels like.”

Hannah laughed. “Not so bad as that, I hope,” she said. “C’mon, let’s saddle up, cowboy. I want to get back here before dark.”

Hannah parked beside the apartment building and handed the car keys to Robbie. “I guess I’ll see you around,” she said, and turned to walk to her new home.

“You can spare a few minutes, can’t you?” Robbie asked. “Have a cup of coffee and say goodbye to Tina, at least.”

“Well... OK,” Hannah said. It would be better to make a clean break, but she owed him that at least.

Tina’s apartment was empty. They found her in Hannah’s former apartment, Peggy’s now, helping with the unpacking. Peggy had been in a big hurry to get dressed – she was in sweat shirt and jeans, but hadn’t taken time to put on socks. She was barefoot now, her boots discarded by the door.

Hannah saw Robbie eyeing Peggy’s feet. “Easy, fella,” she said. “Let her unpack first. After that, who knows? You might get lucky with her, like you did with me.” She saw the wounded look on his face, and immediately regretted it. “Hey, now, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Tina hugged her. “Bye, Liz,” she said. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I didn’t fall off the world, Tina,” Hannah said. “We’ll see each other again.” A mischievous grin. “You’ve got some laughing to do, girlfriend. And so do I.”

Coffee with Robbie was a mistake, Hannah thought. They sat apart, radiating discomfort, the conversation showing the strain they were under. He had his guitar, slowly picking out a tune, probably to give him something to do with his hands.

“You’ve changed, Liz,” Robbie said. “A lot. I don’t know you any more.”

“I’m growing up, Robbie,” Hannah said gently. “I’ve had to. I still have a long way to go, but it’s not so bad. You ought to try it.”

The tune changed. “So the party’s over,” he said. “Can I call you?”

“Stop,” Hannah said. “Not that tune, Robbie. Not now.”

“But– ”

Hannah stood up. “I’d better leave,” she said. “Let me call you when I’m ready. After Christmas, maybe – we’ll have you and Tina over for dinner.”

He laid his guitar aside and stood up. “OK, Liz,” he said. “If that’s how it has to be.”

“It does,” Hannah said. She paused at the door. “Oh, and Robbie... Liz was a party girl. Call me Hannah.”

She had tea in the kitchen with Lisa later on, after Ashley was asleep. “You look kinda down, Hannah,” Lisa said. She grinned. “Bet I can make you laugh.”

That got a laugh out of Hannah. “Decided you like to tickle, did you?”

Lisa looked thoughtful. “I enjoyed tickling Peggy, just out of meanness,” she said. “She had it coming. But it wasn’t like that when you tickled me – that was playful. Drove me crazy while you were doing it, but it was kinda fun too.”

“Yah, it all depends on the chemistry,” Hannah said. “But I was in a hurry then, because you were a target of opportunity. We’re lucky we didn’t hurt each other.”

“I never thought of that,” Lisa admitted. “That must be why you rolled Peggy up in that blanket.”

“Yup,” Hannah said. She kicked off her slippers and peeled off her socks. “There’s easier ways, if the ticklee cooperates,” she said. “C’mon, let’s find something to tie me up with. And then, you’re gonna tickle me silly!”

***


 
(conclusion)

The clock chimed 7 PM, bringing Hannah back to the present. Lisa had become the third Irregular – the fourth, if they counted Robbie. He gradually cleaned up his act and became a regular visitor. Little Ashley had loved his guitar playing. He had given the child a birthday present – hired carpenters to put the wall back up in the larger bedroom so Ashley could have a room of her own. It had taken Tina a little longer, but she eventually settled down too.

Peggy decamped when the lease ran out – Hannah had never asked her friends whether they had “encouraged” the girl as she had done. Probably, she figured – Peggy was fun to tickle, great tickle laugh and great reactions. The temptation to tickle her silly had probably been too strong to resist.

Hannah still saw Tina – they were faculty colleagues and good friends, still active members of the Vellication Irregulars. The Latina girl had made a break with her rowdy past, had dropped the name Tina in favor of the more serious-sounding Lucia when she got married. She was Lucia Sierra Montanez now.

And Robbie... They had loved each other, but not enough. He had moved on from Bell Labs to Raytheon, in the high-tech corridor west of Boston, and taught an engineering class as an Adjunct Professor at UMass. He was married too, with two kids. They had lunch together sometimes when their schedules coincided.

Hannah put the album back on the shelf. She stepped into her damp Birkenstocks and climbed the stairs to the attic. The place was cluttered, dusty, dimly lit by a single naked light bulb. Near the stairs were a rusty tree stand and three cardboard boxes, labeled XMAS in Magic Marker. She brought them down and stacked them just inside the door to her study. One more piece was already there, in an open UPS box. It was an old one, and much beloved by a little girl years ago. More memories...

***

The University hosted an annual holiday antique show, attended by dealers from as far off as Boston and Hartford. Admission was free for students, and it cost nothing to look.

Lisa needed a break, and needed it bad. Hannah was waiting for her friend outside the Trough at 9:30. “C’mon, you need a break,” she said. “Let’s go to the antique show.”

“But Ashley...”

“It’s OK, Grams said she didn’t mind keeping her a few extra hours,” Hannah said. “No more excuses now – let’s go.”

The display tables had sold out – the CU faculty were good customers for this sort of thing. Even the dealer across the street from campus was here, with a selection of her better wares. They ambled around, taking it all in.

For the most part, the stuff was good quality with prices to match. Oddly enough, Hannah was reminded of a gun show she had attended with a high-school boyfriend – the music was different, but the dance was the same. The dealers came to shows as much to trade with each other as to sell to the public, and the rule was caveat emptor, writ large. David had joked about it – said that if you needed to tie your shoe, be sure to back up in a corner before you bend over. But there was symmetry – caveat vendor was equally applicable, and people who got skinned had only themselves to blame. That revelation had some interesting implications.

They bought a Christmas tree on their way home, from an old man who had set up in the empty lot next to the gas station down the block. Between the two of them, they managed to carry it home through falling snow. It was scraggly, with a place on one side that was practically bald. Well, it hadn’t cost much, anyway. They could put it in the corner where the bad place wouldn’t show.

They had no money for decorations. The holiday break had started at CU, the Trough was closed, Lisa was down to just one paycheck until January. Mrs. Gallagher got her old decorations out – blown glass balls from Woolworth’s, old-fashioned lights with thumb-sized bulbs. The four of them decorated the tree together as the snow fell outside.

“It’s good to see these put to use again – I haven’t had a tree since Pat died,” the old woman said when they were finished. “You girls might as well have ‘em. I’ve got no one to leave ‘em to.”

“Don’t say it that way, Grams,” Lisa said. “You’ll be with us next Christmas, and the one after.”

“I’m 87 yrs old, girl.” She chuckled. “I don’t buy green bananas any more – might not live to eat ‘em.” She studied the tree. “Needs an angel on top, not that star. I meant to buy Ashley another, but it’s hard getting around at my age.”

And that gave Hannah an idea. They already had Christmas presents for the little girl – an entry-level Barbie, the pink footie pajamas, some books that had been Tim Gallagher’s. But wouldn’t it be great to get the child something beautiful, that she would truly love?

Hannah took Mrs. Gallagher aside, back to the old woman’s flat. “You willing to part with that candlestick in a good cause, Grams?” Hannah asked, indicating the crystal piece.

“This one’s just collecting dust, might as well put it to use,” the old woman said. “T’other broke years ago. What d’you have in mind, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I think I can get an angel for Ashley,” Hannah said. “A good one. Poor kid deserves something nice.” She described the Art Deco figure in the antique shop.

“Sure, take it, dear,” Mrs. Gallagher said. “You really think they’ll trade?”

“Not even – I’ll have to throw some money in,” Hannah said. “I’ve got it covered, but I’ll need your help working that part too. There’s two of ‘em working there, but I think the wife’s actually running it. She’s tougher – I won’t do much good with her. So you’ll be my wing man – you keep her busy, and I’ll make a deal with him.”

Mrs. Gallager looked at Hannah with respect. “Sound tactics, dear. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, if that’s OK with you.”

“Sure an it’ll be another fine adventure!” The woman grinned. “I like the way ye think – wish I’d known ye back in Ireland.”

Hannah scouted the antique shop right after lunch. The next step required some preparation. Hannah knocked on Mrs. Gallagher’s door.

“What you’re wearing will do fine,” Hannah said. “I need to change clothes – a little camouflage, so they’ll underestimate me.”

Hannah put her hair up in little-girl pigtails. She borrowed her Lisa’s too-thin coat and an old sweat shirt. Her own jeans would do, and... yes, sneakers instead of boots. They paused outside the shop, two doors away and out of sight from inside.

“OK, Grams,” Hannah said. “Show time.”

Mrs. Gallager grinned mischievously. “Give me a few minutes head start. I’ll meet you here afterward.”

There are many different Southern accents – the one Hannah selected came from so far back in the piney woods as to nearly defy comprehension. She popped two pieces of bubble gum in her mouth, plastered a look of wide-eyed innocence on her face and entered. The woman owner was showing a selection of her wares to Mrs. Gallagher, fully involved. Hannah approached her target.

“How are you?” she said – it came out something like “Hire yew?”

The man looked up and looked her over. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, sir,” she said. “I’m from Georgia. Visitin’ my Yankee cousins.” The accent was a bit overdone, but she was wearing sneakers in December, and the generic Wal-Mart coat was too light for the weather. He fell for it. He might as well have had a big cartoon thought balloon over his head – this kid just fell off the hay truck, he was thinking.

“See anything you like?”

“Thanks, just lookin’,” Hannah replied, and blew a bubble. “Y’all have some pretty things here.”

“Look all you like,” he said. He lost interest – she wasn’t a buyer, just a looker, after all.

Hannah looked around for a few minutes to put him off guard. Time for Act II, she thought. “This angel statue’s right nice,” she said, opening the negotiations. “What would you take for it?”

“That’s not an angel, it’s a sprite,” he corrected. “A top-quality Preiss reproduction.”

Hannah laughed. “Top-quality price, sure ‘nuff,” she said, deliberately misinterpreting. “Mighty proud of it, ain’t’cha?”

He bowed up at that. “Ferdinand Preiss. The artist. It’s worth every penny we’re asking,” he said stiffly.

“You’re asking, but you ain’t selling,” Hannah said. She cracked her gum, looked at it again before turning back to him. “Been here a while, from the look of it.”

“I’m not gonna give it away,” he said. “You interested or not?”

“Don’t lack but one thing,” she said. “Any way you could come down some?”

He considered. “Maybe $25.00,” he said.

“Look, let’s get down to bidness,” Hannah said. “What d’you need to have for it?”

He checked a ledger book near the register, figuring what they had in it. “OK, I’ll knock off $50.00,” he said, closing the book. “Take it or leave it.”

Hannah pulled out her cash roll, singles mostly, with a few fives and tens mixed in. She blew another bubble while she made a show of counting it. “Nope, still way short,” she said. She cracked her gum again and gave him a sidelong look. “Reckon we could work up a trade?”

“Maybe,” he allowed. There were two other customers in the store now – he wanted to close the sale and move on, before he lost them. “What d’you have?”

“This.” She took the crystal candlestick out of her coat pocket and unwrapped it. “Just like the one you got over there.”

He took it and inspected it. “You know I can’t give you the asking price on that one for this,” he said.

“Course not,” Hannah agreed. “You’ll give me twice what you’re asking for the other one.” She held up a hand. “Hear me out, now. That’s a fair price for one. You take mine, you’ll sell the pair together for three-four times what you’d get for just one, and sell ‘em quicker too.”

He sighed. “You don’t give up, do you? OK, what’s your offer?”

“The statue for my candlestick and $50.00,” Hannah said.

“Couldn’t go less than $100.00,” he said.

She took her cash out again. “There’s $67.00 cash, right here. All I got.”

One of the waiting customers started moving toward the door, and that tipped it. “Sold! Jeez, kid, you drive a hard bargain,” he said.

She had him pack it for her in a box full of styrofoam peanuts – he threw that in for free. Home again, they wrapped their purchase in Mrs. Gallagher’s kitchen and stashed it in a closet.

“Thanks, Grams,” Hannah said as she was leaving. “For everything.”

“Happy to do it,” the woman answered. “She’ll love it, that she will.”

Lisa and Ashley were in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. Mac-and-cheese tonight, cheap and filling. Maybe tomorrow too – they had to scrape to come up with enough money for Christmas dinner.

“Where’d you go with Grams?” Lisa asked.

Hannah looked sly. “I’ll never tell! You’ll just have to wait ‘til Christmas.”

“I’ll tickle it out of you, y’know,” Lisa said, mock-sternly. “We’ll have no secrets in this house.”

Hannah laughed. “You can try. But I’m tough. I’ll never talk!”

“We’ll see about that!” Lisa threatened good-naturedly. “Right after supper.”

The kitchen was still warm from cooking, so they did it there. They used a chair tie – Hannah’s hands were tied behind her back, she was bound to the chair across her lap and under the seat. Her ankles were tied together, feet through the back of a facing chair, tied off to the top arch of the canes. Lisa added the finishing touches – tied Hannah’s big toes together with red ribbon and put a Santa hat on her auburn curls.

Might as well make a contest out of this, Hannah thought. “OK, Lisa, you’ve got 10 minutes to tickle the truth out of me,” she said. “Tickle me out, and I’ll tell all. But if I can hold out... Well, Angel, I think then your mom could use a few laughs. Deal?”

“Deal!” Ashley said.

Lisa laughed. “How come I don’t get any say in this?” she asked. “But that’s OK. Ready, Hannah?” Without waiting for an answer, she scrabbled her nails on Hannah’s soles.

“HAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA! HAHAHAHA-HAHAHA!” Hannah blinked away tears, laughing like mad. Lisa was grinning ear to ear, tickling fiendishly, while laughter poured out of Hannah in a solid stream. She was good at it too, with a light touch that tickled like mischief.

“Ready to talk yet?” Lisa asked sweetly. She spider-walked her nails down Hannah’s arches, zig-zag – the laughter went up a notch. “No, huh?” Lisa tickled both heels, using just her nail tips. Hannah threw her head back and laughed her head off, the end of her Santa hat whipping like a flag as she struggled desperately to escape.

“I think I’ll tickle your soles,” Lisa said thoughtfully. She switched her tickle target, one hand at a time, and never missed a stroke.

Lisa kept it up, covering the sensitive skin with unbearable tickling. Then down both arches, drawing circles and other tickling shapes. Hannah laughed and laughed as Lisa tickled her heels two-handed. Back up the arches, then side to side on both soles again – Hannah’s toes twitched and curled as her laughter went off the scale. It didn’t last forever, though it seemed that way. It tickled horribly!

“OK, break time,” Lisa said, and quit. Hannah sat there, head down, trying to get her breathing normal again. She would need it – Lisa would show no mercy. And all too soon...

“Still won’t talk?” Lisa asked, resting her nail tips on Hannah’s right heel. “No? Good – gives me an excuse to do this.” She raked her nails up to the the right sole, across and down to the left heel, applying just enough pressure to tickle like crazy. Hannah bucked and squirmed and laughed at the top of her lungs.

Lisa drew overlapping circles up the arches, then tickled both soles, side to side. Hannah’s toes twitched and curled as she laughed and laughed. Lisa got all four nails between Hannah’s right toes and scratched the sensitive skin. She tickled the soft skin under Hannah’s toes, across to the left foot, and repeated the toe tickle. Hannah laughed helplessly, tears of laughter running down her cheeks.

“I’ve gone easy on you so far,” Lisa remarked, still tickling. “Sterner measures are called for.”

Easy! Lisa was tickling her to death! Oh Ghod how it tickled!

Lisa took hold of Hannah’s right foot – she made a claw of her left hand. Hannah laughed at the top of her lungs as Lisa raked her nails down the foot, drawing four parallel zig-zag lines and applying just enough pressure to tickle unbearably. Tears of laughter ran down Hannah’s cheeks as she struggled and squirmed. Lisa repeated the tickle half a dozen times or so, then did the same to Hannah’s left foot, forcing wave after wave of helpless laughter. Then two-handed tickling on both soles, fast as she could. Hannah lost it and laughed herself breathless.

“Gonna talk now?” Lisa asked, buffing her nails on the front of her shirt.

“Nope – tickle me to death, and I still won’t talk.”

“Well, OK,” Lisa said, and got to work untying Hannah’s bonds. “You win – this time.”

“Aunt Hannah, does that mean you’re gonna tickle Mommy?” Ashley asked.

“Not now, Angel,” Hannah said. She rubbed her wrists, then her feet, and winced. Her ribs and abs were a little sore from laughing. “But soon,” she added, already planning her revenge.

Ashley woke them Christmas morning, all wide-eyed excitement. Outside, the rising sun shone off the blanket of fresh clean snow. Today would be a white Christmas, clear and cold – there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

They waited for Mrs. Gallagher, then started on the presents. Christmas is for kids – the women had agreed not to get anything for each other. But Ashley had presents for them, three small clumsily-wrapped packages. “Mommy helped me buy these,” Ashley said. “But I picked them out and wrapped them myself.”

Inside, they were all the same – Christmas socks, garish things in red and green, 3 pairs for $5.00 at Wal-Mart. “Thank you, Angel,” Hannah said, and put hers on. She extended her legs and wiggled her toes. “Nice and warm – I love ‘em!”

There was just one more present. Hannah fetched it from next door. Ashley tore the wrapping off, then stopped, stymied by the packing tape.

“Let me help you, Angel,” Hannah said. She slit the box all the way around with a box cutter, an inch or so above the bottom. “Now lift the box. Be gentle!”

Ashley lifted the box – a cascade of packing peanuts poured out. Lisa took the empty box, then froze. Mrs. Gallager smiled and winked at her, as if to say “Ask no questions.”

Ashley froze too. She looked at her present, wide-eyed with wonder and joy. “It’s an angel!” she said, gently brushing away the remaining peanuts. “She’s beautiful!”

“Yes she is,” Hannah said. “And she looks just like you. Merry Christmas, Angel.”

***

A knock at the door. I timed that pretty well, Hannah thought as she went to answer it.

Ashley stood on the porch in her winter uniform and reefer coat, a sea bag at her feet. Her face and hands were tanned from outdoor work and sunlight reflected off the sea. A few flakes of snow dusted her shoulders and cap. The white cap was awful, unattractive when it was designed in the 1940’s and downright ugly now. The coat was better – except for the insignia, it was a style Hannah’s students might have worn.

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Hannah,” Ashley said. “Thanks for having me.” Lisa had given Hannah Ashley’s service email address, told her that Ashley was stationed at the Port of Boston. When Hannah discovered that Ashley only had one day off for Christmas, she had invited her to spend it here. In a way, it would be like old times.

Hannah laughed. “You’re making me feel old,” she said. “Aunt Hannah indeed! Come in, come in! And call me Hannah. Please.”

Ashley picked up her sea bag and followed Hannah inside. “OK, Aun– ” The girl corrected herself. “OK, Hannah.”

“How did you get here?”

“Bus from Boston,” Ashley answered. “I rode in with a Marine from the Navy Yard, his mom picked us up and dropped me off here on their way home. Did you know you’ve got a big puddle next to the mail box?”

Hannah grinned. “You found it the same way I did, didn’t you?”

“I stepped in it, if that’s what you mean,” Ashley said. “Good thing these steaming shoes are waterproof.” The Coast Guard had been almost entirely diesel-powered for a generation, thought Hannah – odd how that old term hung on.

Hannah took the cap and coat and hung them in the hall closet. “How long has it been?”

“I was 17, A– Hannah,” Ashley said. “I wanted to stop when I passed through here last summer, but you were away.”

“The Women’s Studies Working Group.” Hannah said. “Bunch of hairy-armpit feminists with attitude, too PC for words. Wish I’d skipped it.”

“I’m taking a course at BU – I know the type,” Ashley said. “Their idea of diversity is two Blacks, two Jews, a woman and a cripple, assorted sexual deviants and a partridge in a pear tree. All with identical left wing views, of course – no diversity of opinion allowed.”

Hannah laughed at that. “Now you sound like your mother. Her politics were always somewhere to the right of Lucrezia Borgia.”

“I am like my mother,” Ashley said. “But I don’t think “liberal” is a dirty name either.” She grinned. “Lucky for you, huh?”

Hannah grinned back. “Alas, they’ve left me behind,” she said. “I think for myself. So do you and your mom. We’ve come to different conclusions, and that’s OK. That’s what being a liberal means to me. If I didn’t think so, I’d be no different from Pat Robertson.” A pause. “Well, enough of that – you didn’t come here to talk politics. Let me look at you.”

The uniform was designed for a man – navy trousers, a navy shirt with a tab tie substituted for the four-in-hand, black boondocker shoes. But despite the unisex tailoring, there was no mistaking Ashley’s gender.

“You look great, Angel. Oops! I mean Ashley,” Hannah said. “Like what you’re doing?”

Ashley’s face lit up. “A lot,” she said. “I’m serving in a cutter doing stop-and-board inspections of ships coming into Boston Harbor. It’s interesting and useful work, and I feel like I’m making a difference. Those raghead bastards who turned airliners into bombs wouldn’t hesitate to do the same with an oil tanker.” She saw the look on Hannah’s face and paused. “Yah, I know, saying that’s not PC, but it’s true and we both know it. You got the portrait, right? Well, here’s what I look like in real life.”

It was a snapshot taken on the afterdeck of a ship, looking out over gray ocean swells. A big helicopter formed the background – it was armed, Hannah saw. The flight crew were in flight suits near the cockpit. The boarding party were grouped near the side door. They wore blue Coast Guard BDU’s with the trousers bloused into their boot tops, thin black gloves, and blocky Kevlar helmets with boom microphones and night-vision goggles and lamps. All had flak vests and combat harnesses with holstered pistols. Some were armed with M-16 rifles, the others with pump shotguns. They looked every inch the warriors they were.

“Boarding party from the cutter Vigilance,” Ashley said. “That’s me on the right with the shotgun.”

We tend to think of the Coast Guard in terms of their rescue function, Hannah thought, and that’s dangerous enough. But the rules of the game have changed. They’re part of Homeland Security, and that puts them on the sharp end. This girl – no, this woman – spent her days going into harm’s way.

“Anyway, I’m working harder than I ever have,” Ashley continued. “I eat like a horse, hit the rack and drop right off, wake up feeling refreshed and looking forward to the new day. I’ve gained 10 lbs, and none of it’s fat. I love it!”

Hannah threw another stick on the fire. “Well, you can tell me all about it after you’re settled in. Are you hungry?”

“Still making those pineapple cookies?” Ashley asked slyly.

Hannah laughed again. “I’ll take that for a yes,” she said. “Come on, let’s put your things in the guest room, and I’ll start a pot of tea. Time enough to set up the tree afterward.”

Irish Breakfast Tea it was, and Hannah brewed it strong and dark in her grandmother’s old china teapot. Ashley took one sugar, Hannah recalled. She took her own with a touch of lemon and plenty of sugar – she had never gotten used to putting milk in it like some of her British and Indian colleagues did. Hannah poured, put half a dozen cookies on a plate and carried it out to the living room.

Hannah kicked back in her recliner, Ashley sat on the couch. “Mom said they’re gonna name the baby Hannah if it’s a girl,” Ashley said. “Believe it or not, it’s a popular name now.”

Hannah chuckled. “Ought to name her Ethel Hannah, or some such,” she said. “There are rules for these things, y’know.”

“We’re Yankees, you unreconstructed Janie Reb – that doesen’t apply,” Ashley said. “Or is it damnyankees?”

They moved on and spent the next half hour getting re-acquainted. Ashley had still been just a kid 2 yrs ago – now she was a confident and competent young woman. The change was striking and very impressive.

“So why’d you join the Coast Guard?” Hannah asked at last. “Really, I mean, not the flag-waving part.”

Ashley looked thoughtful. “It’s a long story, and I’m not sure you’d believe it,” she said. “Let’s just say I had an epiphany last spring.” She changed the subject. “Those socks – you could just about put ‘em on from either end,” she said.

Hannah wiggled her toes. “Yah, they’re getting kinda thin.” That was putting it mildly – each heel showed a 1” circle of bare skin, there was another bigger hole in the left sole, and the right wasn’t much better.

“Convenient though,” Ashley added, stretching her arm out toward Hannah’s feet and grinning mischievously. “With those tickle ports, I mean.”

Hannah looked stern. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Ashley practically levitated off the couch. She was unbelievably fast – Hannah was sprawled backward, feet up and ankles trapped in an arm lock, before she quite knew what happened.

“Wouldn’t I?” Ashley asked. She made a Peace sign and scratched the two circles of bare heel. “Tickle tickle!”

“Haha! Ashlee– hehe! Sta– haha! –ap!” Hannah giggled and begged. “That tickles!”

Ashley looked back over her shoulder. “It’s supposed to tickle, silly!” she said. “Now let’s see...” She slipped two fingers through the hole in the sole and scratched under Hannah’s toes.

“NOOO!” Hannah yelled. “Hehehe! HAHAHA! HAHA-HAHA-HAHAHA! HAHAHAHAHA!”

“That’s better,” Ashley said cheerfully. “You always did have a pretty tickle laugh. Mom thought so too.”

Hannah laughed helplessly as Ashley’s nails flicked her sole. She bucked and squirmed, feet wiggling, trying desperately to pull her feet away. Ashley hung on – she had all four fingers through the hole now, tickling between all of the toes. Laughter poured out of Hannah in a solid steam – it tickled maddeningly!

By now, the ticklish struggle had completely ruined the sock – it flapped loose, leaving Hannah’s foot bare from toes to mid-arch. Ashley dug in, flicking the sole in the exact middle along the crease. Hannah’s toes twitched and curled as she laughed like mad. Ashley grabbed the end of the sock and pulled it back over the heel. Hannah had just enough time to take a deep breath, then she was laughing harder than before as the tickling fingernails attacked her heel.

Ashley shifted targets, tickled the ball of Hannah’s foot, then into the arch just behind the sole. Hannah laughed her head off as Ashley spider-walked her nails down the arch to the heel and back again. Then on the ball of the foot and along the crease in the middle of the sole, where it really, really tickled, and Hannah laughed at the top of her lungs.

Ashley quit and released Hannah. “Bet that got the blood flowing,” she said with a grin.

“You’re no angel, you awful Yankee!” Hannah said, a little short of breath. “I’ll get you for this!”

“You used to say that to Mom too,” Ashley said. “Want me to tickle the other foot?” she asked hopefully.

Hannah brushed her hair back and sat up. “Not a chance,” she said firmly. She peeled off the ruined sock and its mate. “C’mon, let’s get the tree up.”

Ashley still had her shoes on – she went out to the garage to bring in the tree. Afterward, they struggled with the poorly-designed stand until the tree was upright and stable. Then the lights – Hannah stretched them out on the floor and plugged them in. That was especially important with one of the three strands – it used old fashioned thumb-sized bulbs, and if any of them was burned out, none would light.

“You’ve still got those old lights,” Ashley observed. “Mom still has the other string. Damn things are a fire hazard, the insulation’s so old and brittle.”

“So we’ll keep an eye on ‘em,” Hannah responded. “I happen to like ‘em. Brings back old times.”

They got the lights on the tree without too much trouble – it helped that both of them were tall. Ashley went to open another box, but Hannah stopped her.

“You’re probably tired,” Hannah said. “Why don’t you take a nice long bath? I’ll get the ornaments.”

“Bless you!” Ashley said. In a horrible mock-Austrian accent: “I’ll be back!”

The ornaments were pretty enough, though none had been expensive. Hannah had bought most of them at Wal-Mart for her first Christmas with Robbie. Others were much older, from Woolworth’s in the 1920’s – blown glass, delicate and fragile. The Art-Deco angel went up last. Hannah gave a snort of amusement. There was an old joke about how the angel got on top of the tree – little Ashley hadn’t thought it was funny at all.

“I’m back – let’s plug it in,” Ashley said behind Hannah. She had toweled her hair dry – practical enough, short as it was. She wore a pink jogging suit trimmed in white – there was something in her hand. “Oh! The angel!” she added. “How did you get...?”

“Your mom overnighted it to me when she found out you were coming here for Christmas. Said it wouldn’t be Christmas without it,” Hannah answered.

Ashley gazed pensively at the angel. “I miss Grams,” she said. “I wish she could see me now.”

“I miss her too,” Hannah said. “She’d be proud of you.” A pause. “Looks like you’re ready to hang your stocking by the fire,” she added, indicating Ashley’s outfit.

“I like these,” Ashley said. “Kinda like the footie pajamas I had when I was little.” She looked down at her bare feet. “Except for the footie part.”

“Don’t you have slippers?” Hannah asked.

“I was gonna wear these,” Ashley said, holding out something in her hand. Hannah took it – a pair of Christmas socks, garish things with trees and stars on them. “But I ruined yours, so you should have ‘em.”

“You gave me the old ones, you know,” Hannah said.

“Did I? I don’t remember,” Ashley said. “Must’ve been a long time ago.” She flopped down on her tummy facing away from the fireplace and extended her feet toward the fire. “Just throw some more wood on the fire – I’ll be OK.”

Socks or no, Hannah’s feet were cold – she flopped down next to Ashley. They spent the next hour or so catching up on each other’s lives. The girl was a lot like her mother, Hannah decided – determined, inner-directed, in some ways almost driven. What had happened to change her from the cheery, ditzy girl-child she had been 2 yrs ago?

The tea hit bottom – Hannah left to find some plumbing. When she got back, Ashley had turned around – she was gazing into the fire, idly kicking her feet in the air, chin resting on her folded arms. Ashley hadn’t heard her...

Hannah slipped silently up to Ashley, then quickly sat on her facing aft. She grabbed Ashley’s ankles and trapped her legs in the figure-four leg lock.

“Hey!” Ashley protested, trying to buck Hannah off. “Get off!”

“Payback time!” Hannah said, and flicked her nails in Ashley’s arches.

“Hehehe! OH NOOO!” Ashley yelled. “HAHAHA! HAHA-HAHAHA! HAHAHA-HAHAHA!” Her musical contralto tickle laugh was as lovely as the rest of her.

“Age and treachery beats youth and strength!” Hannah said triumphantly. She held back Ashley’s toes and tickled side to side on the soft skin underneath. Ashley bucked and squirmed, laughing her head off.

The stretched out soles got it next – tickling side to side, flicking the creases in the center of the soles, figure-eight’s around and on the balls of both feet. Helpless laughter poured out as Hannah tickled down both arches, drawing overlapping circles and other tickling shapes. Ashley laughed like a madwoman as Hannah tickled her heels with her nail tips, not making much contact but tickling horribly.

Like her mother, Ashley’s feet were beyond ticklish all over – she didn’t have a sweet spot. Hannah’s tickle play with the Vellication Irregulars came in handy – she had a delicate touch that kept Ashley laughing without tickling her out. Everything Hannah did drove Ashley wild – the girl laughed and laughed, eyes closed, tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks. She wasn’t struggling any more – the tickling had sucked away her strength.

Hannah kept Ashley laughing with tiny tickling nail flicks. She switched to a guitar-chording motion in both arches – Ashley was laughing harder now. She spread Ashley’s toes two by two, tickling between each pair – each time she was rewarded with a burst of helpless laughter. Then two-handed on both soles – Ashley’s toes twitched and curled as she laughed at the top of her lungs. Hannah finished in the arches, just behind the soles, and tickled Ashley’s breath away.

“Well, Ashley, how was that?” Hannah asked. She dismounted and sat cross-legged next to her victim. She had enjoyed tickling Ashley – if anything, the girl was even more ticklish than her mother, and Lisa was very ticklish indeed.

Ashley laid there gasping, trying to get her heart rate normal again. “That tickled so much!” she said. “Good one!” She rolled onto her back, sat up, drew up her legs and shuffled her feet to get the tickle off.

Hannah was impressed at the quick recovery – she was less ticklish than Ashley, hadn’t been tickled as hard (had Ashley been holding back?) but had still taken longer to recover. “Gave you a real workout, didn’t I?” she said. “Too bad we can’t harness all that energy somehow.”

Ashley gave her an odd look. She opened her mouth, then closed it firmly again – whatever she might have had to say, she had decided to keep it to herself.

“Well...” Hannah said to fill the sudden silence. “I’d like some more tea. Can I get you one?”

The old mantel clock chimed 9 PM. Ashley glanced up at it, yawned and stretched. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. She stood with a graceful, effortless motion and offered a hand-up to Hannah. “I’m running bingo on sleep – maybe I’d better turn in.”

“All right. I think I’ll stay up and read for a while,” Hannah said.

She checked on Ashley a few minutes later. The girl was curled up in bed, burrowed under the covers, fast asleep. Hannah stood watching for a while. I may never have a child of my blood, she thought, but at least I have a small piece of this one. I could do far worse.

A new song started on the radio – Crosby’s “White Christmas” again. It was Tim’s song, Grams had said, but now Ashley was going in harm’s way, so it was hers too. I’ll have to get a Service Star for the window, thought Hannah. No, two – one for my office too.

Ashley stirred – Hannah’s presence must have disturbed her.

“Aunt Hannah?” Ashley asked sleepily.

“Good night, Angel,” Hannah said quietly. “Merry Christmas.”


***THE END***


 
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Merry Christmas, Indeed!

A wonderful story, Strel -- displaying not only exceptional talent, but the kind of loving patience and depth that makes your stories real stories rather than scenes strung together by paper-thin pretext. Wonderful atmosphere, characters, and attention to detail --thanks for the gift!
 
super fantastic story. the details and the plot were great. sad poignant, yet happy all at once. i love how she would reflect back. and the reader was led to believe she would be alone at christmas, then ashley showing up like that. very well done, i can see why you won the golden feather.

isabeau
 
Excellent. Very well written.

You're a credit to the tickling world, keep up the good work.
 
As if she were born to Tickle Street, she is...

Strel, you so lovingly enveloped Hannah into your Tickle Street Universe that it's as if my favorite ticklesome academic were a native there. A lovelier gift to we tickle prose fans I can't imagine...<br>
Folks, I know Strel already sports a Golden Feather for his fiction, but his Tickle Street stories of 2005--capped by this treat--demand another. Before he's through. he'll have a duster's worth, I reckon.<br>
Hey, Myriads, I hope you don't mind my startin' the Golden Feather electioneering here. I promise that Jack Abramoff hasn't given me a dime. (A trip to Cancun and thousands, yes, but not one dime!)
 
TeeHeeLawrence said:
Strel, you so lovingly enveloped Hannah into your Tickle Street Universe that it's as if my favorite ticklesome academic were a native there. A lovelier gift to we tickle prose fans I can't imagine...<br>
Folks, I know Strel already sports a Golden Feather for his fiction, but his Tickle Street stories of 2005--capped by this treat--demand another. Before he's through. he'll have a duster's worth, I reckon.<br>
Hey, Myriads, I hope you don't mind my startin' the Golden Feather electioneering here. I promise that Jack Abramoff hasn't given me a dime. (A trip to Cancun and thousands, yes, but not one dime!)

yes he is very good but what about you TeeHee? when will you write another one of your engrossing and very entertaining tales? please soon??? bats her eyelashes.

isabeau :couch:
 
Merry Christmas!

...to all, and to all a good night!
 
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Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Ashley nipping at your toes...

If I ruled the world (and, if I can get these nuclear centrifuges set up in the kitchen before the UN notices, it could happen), I will decree that--along with annual broadcasts of A CHARLIE BROWN CHRISTMAS, HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS (a la Chuck Jones), and David Sedaris reading his "Santaland Diaries," that Strelnikov's "White Christmas" appear annually at this time on the TMF to warm the hearts of sole searching ticklephiles everywhere. <p>Thanks, Strel, for sharing this gem with us again. To you--and to all ticklers and ticklees of good will, Merry Christmas and a Helplessly Hilarious New Year!
 
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Strel, i'm very glad you posted this story again! I sent you a pm congratulating you on it for the writing, detail, personality of the characters, and oh yeah, the tickling content. I'm going to read it again, and put it with my readings I always do every Christmas. Thank you.

Dave
 
Santa's Helper

Strel, belated thanks for this seasonal treat. To me, reading it again seems a cozy part of Christmas, as I rock before the tree--its ornaments reflecting strings of lights and the warming fireplace across the room--and sip a bit of taste bud tickling egg nog. <br> Hannah's never seemed so alive--or so happily tickled.
 
Merry Christmas!

ashley2gh3.gif



from Strelnikov, Ashley and the rest of the gang...
 
Cootchy-Coo Comfy!

Strel,
Reading this gem again is as comforting as slipping onto chilly toes a new pair of Santa-supplied warm woolen socks--and as much fun as slipping a pair of socks off of the warm toes of an unsuspecting, napping ticklesome brainy beauty.
<pr>
A Jolly Holiday to you--and your many avid readers!
 
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Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!
 

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Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas, everybody!

Strelnikov
 

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